


hell is where you and i are.

by yojin (MnM_PD)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Afterlife AU, Alternate Universe, Angst, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, Japanese Mythology AU, M/M, Smut, akki (evil spirit) slayers oifuta, akki slayers kuroyaku, but unsexy, concepts from shinto/buddhism, homophobia from unnamed characters, i did a lot of research but some aren’t based on anything, ive given blood sweat and tears for this fic, mentioned side ships, non-accurate historical au, shinigami iwaizumi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:36:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 58,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29818164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MnM_PD/pseuds/yojin
Summary: after hundreds of years being in hell for his sins and 200 years in the afterlife rehab, oikawa was tasked to assist an akki slayer named futakuchi kenji running asakeshop in the living realm. he curses each deity he knows personally—and he knows they can hear him very well—because this new assignment is a harder punishment than the eternity of hell’s pit.
Relationships: Futakuchi Kenji/Oikawa Tooru, Kuroo Tetsurou/Yaku Morisuke, Nametsu Mai/Shimizu Kiyoko, YamaYachi
Comments: 8
Kudos: 7





	1. chrysanthemums and larkspurs.

**Author's Note:**

> okay, so this au has a setting of some 1000 years ago and though i did base some of this on real japanese history and has facts here and there, most of it is not. japanese mythology would also be a concept but not written exactly as it is in japanese mythology. so disclaimer: this is purely fictional, and i wrote this w heavy creative liberty. lastly, this was inspired by the k-drama titled Mystic Pop-up Bar.
> 
> thank u for opening this fic, and i hope u enjoy !!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dont remember when i first started this fic but my earliest documented note in my iphone notes app was in august 2020... and here it is now.

Surrounded by darkness that was barely contrasted by the flickering flames of the candles that hung on the walls, he knelt at the center of _Yomi-no-Kuni’s_ Judgement Chamber. He felt the unforgiving coldness of the black tiles seep into his skin and into his bones. He did not feel fear as he faced _Yomotsu Ōkami_ , the deity ruling over the Land of Darkness, because he only felt acceptance.

A scroll containing the judgement upon him was read by an attendant, reciting that the supreme beings bestowed him an excruciating life of never achieving the bliss of forgetting his past, his mistakes, his hurt, his guilt, and his wrong doings. He would be put through the cruel flames of the very Amaterasu herself for a long period of time, therefore he can repent for what he did against their highest god.

There was no warning nor the slightest encouragement shown towards him before Yomotsu Ōkami opened up a portal right beneath his feet, sending him to _Mugen Jigoku_ —the hell of uninterrupted suffering. He only simply began to fall, and then immediately was wrapped in a scalding, excruciating, agonizing _pain_.

It was all _pain_.

That was all and everything he could feel with his body, mind and soul. Pain, and then nothing.

He wasn’t able to keep tabs on how long he’s been in there, nor does he have the ability to when his own loud shouts of agony were the only thing that rang and echoed inside his skull very clearly. He could only listen to his own screams from start to beginning—his throat dry and yet his voice never fading, his lungs burn and yet he never stopped breathing, his whole being aching as if he was going to disintegrate and yet he never truly does.

It was a continuous torture without pausing, a punishment wherein you're never granted even a miniscule second of silence. He kept falling, and falling, and falling into the infinity of the fire pit. The flames kept burning, scorching, and incinerating his soul. They kept cutting, and tearing, and slicing his spiritual body apart.

Again, and again, and again, and again, and ag—

—

Oikawa roused awake as Futakuchi shook his shoulders—the gesture swaying from being gentle because he’s not awake enough to muster some strength to being harsh because he’s not awake enough to care if he hurt Oikawa.

With the dim light greeting him as he opened his eyes, Oikawa squinted and attempted to focus on Futakuchi’s face while he stretched out his bones to pop a _good morning_.

Oikawa noticed that there was a knot on the other’s forehead and a pout on his lips, but it looked like he was hurt instead of his normal grumpy morning face which concerned Oikawa.

“You alright?” He asked, his voice still gritty as it was accompanied with a sandy feeling in his throat when he spoke.

Futakuchi’s brows slightly softened as Oikawa sat upright, probably glad that he didn’t have to put in more effort into waking Oikawa up like he does everyday.

“Yeah, I’m good. My head’s just pounding a bit.” Futakuchi answered, pressing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and pointing finger, “I think I had a dream about a memory, but I can’t really remember.”

 _A memory_. Oikawa held his breath.

Most of Futakuchi’s uncomfortable dreams were his forgotten memories of his previous life. He once told Oikawa that he’s sure they’re not nightmares because he doesn’t feel terrified waking up from it, instead he wakes up feeling a deep-seated ache in his chest to the point that it makes him feel numb.

Oikawa slowly exhaled, feeling the wires in his brain rapidly firing to help his senses kick start their day.

“You can’t remember anything at all?” Oikawa hesitatingly asked, not wanting to invade his privacy.

“No.” Futakuchi sighed, dropping his hand back to his lap and shaking his head softly to not aggravate his headache, “I can only feel pain.”

“Should I buy some medicine? Human medicine works on us a little, right?” Oikawa suggested, and there was a beat of silence in the air as if Futakuchi wasn’t listening to him anymore.

Futakuchi slowly raised his hand towards himself, then his fingers clutched at his shirt, his clenched fist against his chest, and with a tight voice, Futakuchi whispered, “As always, it hurts most here, but it’s strange that I also feel numb at the same time.”

Oikawa sighed, because it was obvious that no medicine can help Futakuchi’s aching.

—

Futakuchi dashed out of his room right after that as if nothing was amiss to check on the _koji_ spores they grew through wild fermentation the night prior. It was an important ingredient they need for brewing _sake_ , and it’s also useful for some other things. Winter was approaching, and as a millennium immortal, Futakuchi stands by the belief that certain traditions should still be followed like brewing _sake_ in winter time _._

Futakuchi mentioned to Oikawa about a rice farmer that taught him how to brew sake 700 years ago and helped him perfect the craft as his _tōji_ , then Futakuchi continued to keep it traditional even in the 21st century wherein modern technology could have made tons of things a lot easier for _sake_ breweries. Oikawa tried to suggest going modern a year ago when he was first forced to help brewing _sake_ by the _akki_ slayer, but Futakuchi only told him that _Kita-san_ might get mad at him, and that an angry _Kita-san_ is more terrifying than the evil spirits Oikawa had helped him put to rest.

Oikawa wasn’t able to meet this scary rice supplier last year because he had arrived to serve as Futakuchi’s assistant in winter, and this _Kita-san_ had already delivered the rice he grows from _Takamagahara_ in fall. The High Heavenly Fields realm is unattainable for those born as humans, so he’s sure this _Kita-san_ is some kind of a higher being. Maybe it’s why Futakuchi thinks he’s scary when he’s mad, but why would Oikawa fear him for the reason that he’s a Takamagahara resident when he’s a simple being who just really likes rice, farming, and _sake_?

Then finally, as the trees had started to turn into vivid hues of red, orange and yellow, Oikawa would meet Futakuchi’s former _tōji_ to receive the rice delivery. With his anticipation and curiosity put aside for a moment, Oikawa walked out of the entrance of their _minka_ house.

Their base (he hasn’t felt comfortable to call it home yet) has five distinct areas; the minka house behind him, the fountain which Futakuchi sculpted himself 500 years ago according to him right at the center, the sake brewery to his left, the _sake_ shop at the very front, and the _shinto_ shrine to the right accompanied by a garden of two kinds of flowers. There were chrysanthemums on the left side and larkspurs on the right side. That area was where he was going, but not to pray—god, no—but to water the plants.

Oikawa hummed a song as he walked in front of the shrine while he whipped up two small rain clouds from nothing but the abilities given to him upon being dispatched as an akki slayer’s assistant. One cloud flies to the left and the other on the right before they simultaneously move systematically to give an even hydration to the soil.

Futakuchi mentioned that _Kita-san_ was also the reason why there were flowers in this place. There only used to be chrysanthemums for almost 900 years but last year Kita gave Futakuchi seeds for larkspurs before Oikawa came, and of course, these seeds are from the heavenly realm therefore it’s always in full bloom. The only variables needed to take care of the garden is the weather and soil moisture. Futakuchi handles the weather by consuming the dangerous heat in the soil during a hot weather or providing necessary heat during a cold weather. Oikawa naturally was tasked to water the plants as if the high beings knew Futakuchi needed a water boy.

There are not a lot of akki slayers that both have elemental abilities and fighting abilities, so most of them were given a competent soul from hell for assistance to make a ‘good evil spirit fighting duo of brute strength and magical powers’.

In their case, Futakuchi has both battle skills _and_ a fire ability. It would seem like Oikawa was only sent to assist him after having no partner for 700 years to be a water boy in all possible definitions of it. He’s thirsty before a fight? Oikawa would provide him drinking water. Went over the top using his fire bending skills while slaying bad souls? Oikawa would be his personal firefighter. Futakuchi used to fetch pails of water from the shrine’s well for brewing _sake_ but why should he anymore? Oikawa can just make it rain, and technically, it’s the same as taking water from the shrine’s pure water because Oikawa’s power was literally god given. It’s the exact same except Futakuchi wouldn’t sweat from labor anymore.

A gust of unnatural wind breezed throughout the area and all four bell-shaped _futaku_ made of bronze that hung on the four corners of the temple rang a distinct and heavy sound.

Oikawa felt a presence from his left side and he faced whatever or whoever it is in haste, his defenses up and his hands ready to fight, then he saw a person in simple black kimono with a white lining and beside him was a massive wooden box taller than the person containing sacks of rice.

“Oikawa-kun, isn’t it?” The person spoke in a calm demeanor, almost monotonous, “I’m Kita and I’m here to deliver rice. Nice to meet you.”

Caught slightly off-guard, Oikawa blinks three times to collect himself before he answered, “Yes, I am Oikawa. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Now that he met this person who has black hair with whites at the tips, Oikawa might have understood what Futakuchi meant when he said Kita would be scary when angry. On a normal day, you can feel absolutely no hostility from him, and it seems like he only does things perfectly and elegantly. Despite that, Oikawa can feel a strong presence from Kita, and Oikawa has a short list of beings who intimidated him. This person right here just got added to it unexpectedly.

“Ah.” Kita said with a light tone, distracting Oikawa from his own thoughts.

He saw his brows perked upwards as his eyes gazed at the clouds above his grown seeds of larkspurs and chrysanthemums. He walked to stand beside Oikawa and looked at the clouds with curiosity, “Your ability is very convenient when watering plants. I wish I can steal you from Kenji-kun.”

“You think they would let me in Takamagahara? I barely even made it to the peaceful side of _Anoyo_.” Oikawa asked with a lilt in his voice.

Kita smiled, and still with gracefulness, he said, “I can make arrangements for it.”

The door of the brewery opened and Futakuchi gathered both of their attention with a loud voice, “Kita-san, can’t you arrive without a wind next time? It’s been 700 years and you’ve never come here without making noise.”

“Maybe it’s time to get rid of these wind chimes then. It’s not like you need a futaku to get rid of evil spirits anyway.” Kita answered, and Oikawa was totally supportive of the idea.

The futaku rings even when it’s just a normal wind. It wasn’t in Oikawa nor Futakuchi’s ability to protect it from the wind, and whenever Oikawa hears the bell, it a reminds him that a shinto shrine is a part of their base. It makes Oikawa nauseous and annoyed. He reached out to the wind god in a form of a complaint instead of a prayer to make less winds around the shinto shrine once and the bell rang more often after that.

Since he remembered, he then prays a curse word to _Fujin_ and tells him his fashion sense sucks. (It might have been his imagination but Oikawa heard an ominous faint laugh of Fujin in the wind.)

Oikawa has experienced 800 years of hell even if he was admittedly a sinner and had gone through 200 years of rehab without losing memories of it, so it was only natural that he would have hatred towards religious beings. He already went through 800 years of hell in his own tunnel of punishment, so 500 years more in a cauldron of sinners for blasphemy does not frighten him at all.

“—Oikawa-kun?”

“Huh?” Oikawa looked up to meet Kita’s eyes, and those dull brown eyes seemed to suck him into a void. Kita blinked and Oikawa realized he stared too long, “Sorry, what did you say?”

“Kenji-kun went inside while announcing he’d make tea and breakfast without listening to me, but I’m quite in a hurry. I have another rice delivery to an _onigiri_ shop so please pass it on to him later.” Kita said.

“Alright. I will.” Oikawa said, and Kita might have sensed his confusion about the onigiri shop he delivers to as well because he gave an explanation.

“It’s _Onigiri Miya’s_ . It used to be _Tonjiki Miya_ but as society changed, the rice balls became triangular shaped with seaweed at the bottom and some more flavoring ingredients in it.” Kita said, looking like he’s a huge enthusiast of tonjiki or as it is currently called, onigiri.

“Back in my period we only seasoned rice with salt.” Oikawa jested with a small smile, then he tilted his head, a good memory from the rehab center triggered, “Now that I think about it, I think I’ve said that line while I was in rehab while eating a delicious rice ball.”

“What era were you in rehab?” Kita asked, and Oikawa raised his eyes to meet his.

Oikawa felt goosebumps crawl on his skin.

The magnetic feeling was still there, alright.

“ _Genroku_ , I think.” Oikawa said, thinking back to what Moniwa, his afterlife counselor, greeted him with once he lessened his screaming and scratching at the cemented walls that surrounded him after being fished out of hell. It was along the lines of ‘Welcome back from Mugen Jigoku after more than 800 years in it. It’s the Genroku period in Japan at the moment. I am Moniwa Kaname, and we’re in _Meido_ . I was tasked to be your guru. I wish you a swift recovery.’ Oikawa consciously didn’t take the path to recovery swiftly enough because he stayed there to be babied by Moniwa for 200 years. He once had a rice ball with seaweed plus _umeboshi_ then never again, which was a huge disappointment.

“Hmm, Osamu did supply the rehab center in the afterlife once in that period. He had enough resources to do so because it was the golden era of Japan and many of the citizens were singing praises of the higher beings.” Kita said, nodding as he pulls out an old memory after the other with no sweat as if it’s stored prettily inside his skull. Ever since he went through a literal, physical hell, Oikawa’s memories went haywire and disorganized.

“I only had it once, and Moniwa wouldn’t even tell me where I can get more of it.” Oikawa said, unknowingly speaking with a pout on his lips until he tried to frown and felt his chin almost get cramps.

Kita gave a short laugh, and Oikawa found it endearing. He spoke softly, “Well, once our god _Inari_ heard of it, they weren’t pleased. They said that sinners do not deserve a rice meal made by a _kitsune_.”

“Okay maybe they have a point, and I really had no complaints about _Sukunabikona_ and his rice, honestly. He healed us well with the _onsen_ he provided and he fed us well, but that onigiri by that kitsune was just special.” Oikawa said. If there was one god he would genuinely pray to and say the name of, it would be Sukunabikona. He’s the god of onsen, agriculture, magic, brewing _sake_ , and he used all of that to help the souls in that place to be healed.

“Wait, this Osamu guy is a _kitsune_ ?” Oikawa slowly realized. He knows about the genderless god Inari and their fox messengers who can also present themselves as either or neither gender in human form. Since the pieces started to fall together, Oikawa then reached a conclusion, “ _You’re_ a kitsune?”

“Took you long enough.” Kita huffed with a subtle foxy mischief in his eyes, “Well then, I’ll get going.”

“Ok—“ Oikawa was going to tell him goodbye but Kita turned around and quickly transformed into his beautiful form as a fox with fur of pure white. Nine graceful tails swayed into existence as Kita looked back at him in fox form, those still dull brown eyes felt even more captivating than it was in human form.

Oikawa swallowed his saliva.

Yes, he’s seen some shit, but being stuck in hell and post-hell rehab with nothing but learning and coping with the modern way of living did not prepare him from seeing alluring celestial beings like a _fucking_ kitsune.

Kita dignifiedly bowed as a sign of farewell and disappeared into the atmosphere, this time, only the _Furin_ —which is the modern kind of Futaku used mostly in summer—hung on the front door and back door of the sake shop signaled his windy departure. The paper charm swayed and bumped against the dome shaped glass to produce a pretty chime.

Oikawa would have stayed there stunned if Futakuchi did not come out of the minka and discover him standing there stupid. Futakuchi went out with a pout and crossed his arms. Oikawa assumed he was disappointed Kita did not stay for breakfast and tea.

“What? First time you’ve seen a kitsune?” Futakuchi asked, almost sounding mocking but Oikawa didn’t catch it well because what he said was true anyway.

“Yeah.” Oikawa exhales, finding his composure once again.

“What? Oh, wait. Sometimes I forget you were stuck in hell for a millennia, but anyway, don’t ghost me like Kita-san and come inside. The tea and food would grow cold.” Futakuchi told him as he retracted back into the house, not waiting for Oikawa.

“I’ll be there in a moment. Keep them warm for me.” He said even if Futakuchi wasn’t listening anymore.

Maybe what Futakuchi said about Kita being scary when mad was a fact known from experience. Nine tailed foxes are the most wise and powerful of the kitsune, and whatever reason Futakuchi had managed to piss off a person that has centuries of great knowledge and patience would have been so bad.

The wind blew again but gently this time and a letter atop the sacks of rice flew down towards Oikawa’s feet. He picked it up from the ground and read a short, simple message.

_Chrysanthemum is Kenji-kun’s birth flower. Very fitting, don’t you think?_

Oikawa squinted at the message and inspected it with a very attentive gaze, but nothing else aside from that message was written on it. He felt a slight suspicion creep up his spine at what Kita had probably meant by it so he read the message again. Then he felt himself smiling ironically while nodding slash shaking his head because, yes, it’s _very_ fitting.

Then like a reminder, the futaku and furin rang all together at once as Oikawa had one final realization that day.

Chrysanthemums are the birth flowers for those born in November, and it’s already November. November 3 exactly, which means it’s only a week before Futakuchi’s birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in this fic, **Anoyo** means afterlife.  
>  **Tengoku** would be heaven.  
>  **Meido** is originally the place where souls try to redeem themselves by going through harsh trials facilitated by buddhas/gods but in this fic it would be like a limbo with different places for those trials too but along with rehab, chill, waiting place, etc.  
>  **Mugen Jigoku** is a part of **Jigoku** (wc is literally hell) and trivia: Oikawa’s punishment was already decided even before I learned about Mugen Jigoku’s punishment wc is funny. I should be an officer in hell, jk.
> 
> Then there’s the three tiers of the universe:  
>  **Yomi-no-Kuni** is the land of darkness.  
>  **Takamagahara** is a place only for the non-humans.  
>  **Ashihara-naka-Tsukuni** is the land of humans.
> 
> Death in this fic would be: grim reaper to lead dead soul to go to Anoyo >> crossing of the Sanzu river >> they either go to jigoku or tengoku if theyre ultimately evil or ultimately good. If not very evil, they go to meido to go through not as harsh trials as in jigoku.  
> (Oikawa was a special case tho so he was immediately sent to Yomi-no-Kuni and then straight to Mugen Jigoku.)
> 
>  _sake_ (n. japanese alcoholic drink) would also be always in italics so it would not be confused with the word “sake” hahaha
> 
> well then, that’s the first chapter,,, i hope you’re interested enough with this fic to read all of it !!
> 
> if there is anything confusing, please let me know in the comments or maybe dm me on [twt.](https://twitter.com/hqch392)


	2. cursed woman in a strawberry dress.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a woman who escaped from a grim reaper that was to guide her to the afterlife sought an akki slayer and asked for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> magical worlds isn’t a common concept in my fics bc i tend to attempt to justify every single detail of it w ‘logical’ explanations but in this fic i won’t do that. if smth’s not realistic/doesn’t make sense, the only explanation i’m gon tell myself is: _it’s fantasy fiction, bitch. nothing is logical._ (when i said this, i didnt know it was going to be about clothes too)
> 
> i’m also going to use surnames for everyone in the narrations & if u catch me slipping, no u didnt. jk.
> 
> you will also see some underlined words while reading. i try to explain details or to translate foreign words as much as i can but i would provide some links while you’re reading to pictures or whatever for better visualization/understanding.
> 
>  **warning tags/trigger warnings** : mentions of an abusive relationship, mentioned violence, homophobia.

After their breakfast, Futakuchi went back to his kōji spores while Oikawa decided to tend the _sake_ shop and prep it for business, but not in the normal human meaning of business. This _sake_ shop, which was originally named as just ‘ _SAKE_ SHOP’ by Futakuchi and was forcibly rebranded by Oikawa, baptized it with the name ‘ _SAKE NO TAME NI’_ . It translates into ‘for the sake of _sake_ ’ as a cheap joke that doesn’t make any sense except for Oikawa himself.

The shop For The Sake of _Sake_ is only open to souls of the dead and other non-human beings but some humans _can_ also see the shop and come inside _if_ they’re special.

As a matter of fact, the beings that pass through their front door are roughly divided into five (5) categories; (1) souls of the dead—with subcategories of good, evil, and wandering, (2) _annoying_ gods, (3) _annoying_ , and sometimes frantic, non-humans that force urgent work to them, (4) _annoying_ non-humans who only drop by for free alcohol, then last and is the least, (5) humans—special ones, ones with a special reason, or ones with a spirit attachment. There might be some more others but those five were the main ones so far in the year Oikawa had worked here.

The furin at the front door chimed without a wind stimulating it, the door staying closed, announcing that one of the five categories excluding humans and polite spirits had come in. Oikawa faced their first visitor for the day with a customer service smile, wishing it wasn’t the wind god because he’s not in the mood for jokes at the moment, then he paused when he saw a woman wearing a black dress embroidered with strawberries all over it instead. Oikawa took note of her shiny, long black hair and her tense black eyes behind her eyeglasses.

Oikawa felt his smile falter a little.

Without letting Oikawa say a welcome greeting, she quickly inquired, “Is this the house of an akki slayer?”

Oikawa’s smile totally faded as he nodded and stood upright, slightly leaning his weight forward on the broom he was holding, “Yes, it is, and how may this house of an akki slayer help you?”

Those rigid eyes softened as she met Oikawa’s, as if she would beg on her knees if made to, her lips faintly quivering, “Please save my lover.”

—

Oikawa first asked her to take a seat, and served her warm _sake_ to drink while he fetched Futakuchi. Something about the way she asked for help signaled Oikawa that this case would not be that easy.

He went inside the _sake_ brewery’s front door and then into another where he can hear the sounds of pounding.

“Oi.” Oikawa called out before he creaked the door open, stepping inside without waiting for permission to, and Futakuchi was there, grinding the fermented koji with a huge _suribachi_ and _surikogi_. Urgently, he said, “We have a case and I think you should hear it.”

Futakuchi sighed as he stopped pounding on the koji rice with his oversized wooden pestle, tired of the exercise.

The milk chocolate haired millennial old boy does not only like keeping things traditional, but also _dramatical_. Why should he use new technology to grind the koji and miss the chance to look alluring in his drenched white shirt, the sleeves rolled upwards to show off the flex and relaxation of his biceps, along with his beautiful tanned skin glowing from the thin layer of sweat? Right?

Anyone else would have felt amorous at this sight of this old immortal, but _not_ Oikawa. No. Not him. Not at _all_ , he _swears_ to all the gods he hates.

“What is it about?” Futakuchi asked as he organized his work place a little. A droplet of sweat rolled down Futakuchi’s chin and Oikawa tried his best not to stare when Futakuchi wiped it off with the lower hem of his shirt.

“It’s someone asking us to save their lover.” Oikawa said, his throat tight. He swallowed against the odd feeling, reasoning that the long time he spent basking in nothing but pain at Mugen Jigoku was most likely why he acts and feels so strange about things connecting to living as a human once.

“Hm. This better be an _actual_ case, Oikawa- _san_.” Futakuchi teased, adding more insult to it by saying the honorific in a sarcastic way because the last time Oikawa said Futakuchi had to hear a case about someone’s lover, it turned out as something that was not for the work of akki slayers but for the afterlife counsellors. Oikawa justified it in a way that he was only new to the job that time so he had a valid reason for that mistake.

“I think it is. The tremble in her voice is no joke.” Oikawa argued as Futakuchi evaporated his sweat and _unheated_ himself with his magic.

“Hey, I need a quickie.” Futakuchi commanded, uninterested in listening to Oikawa.

With a tired sigh, Oikawa diligently obliged and did his job as a water boy. A _quickie_ meant a quick refreshing shower in this household, so then Oikawa grabbed the condensation in the air and transformed it into a wall of water, just tall and wide enough for Futakuchi to walk through. This was not an ability Oikawa found by himself, but something Futakuchi’s laziness had led fruition to. They even went through lots of trials and errors to perfect it.

The mechanism of it is hard to explain, but to put it simply, Oikawa’s water can act as a jelly and still permeate like water as long as Oikawa controls it with great focus. Meaning that the water can collect everything on top of the skin layer like a jelly but would only act as water when in contact with fabric.

It was already mentioned, but it used to take a huge effort from Oikawa for it to work while Futakuchi slowly passed through the water wall because of two things; first, Oikawa never used his power to do something so ridiculously stupid before, and second, Oikawa found discomfort in doing it.

He had complained _tons_ of times, explaining that he’s conscious and aware of everything that the water he controls touch, but Futakuchi only barked a laugh each time, saying something along the lines of, ‘ _So what if you know every curve and crevice of my body?_ ’ Oikawa did _not_ find it funny.

“Thanks.” Futakuchi told him without actually sounding grateful because he’s a privileged prick before he stepped through it quickly. Oikawa had mastered control of water since the first time he did this, so these days, it’s no sweat to give Futakuchi a quickie anymore. (He also slightly memorized his benefactor’s body frame by now, but he’d rather walk himself back to hell than say that aloud, especially since Futakuchi named this ability a fucking _quickie_.)

The droplets of water that clung on Futakuchi’s clothes made dripping sounds as it fell to the ground. Futakuchi then hummed while he dried himself and his clothes judging by the steam in the air, saying, “Ahh, that’s refreshing.”

“Don’t be a lazy ass and take a fucking shower, _stinky-kun_.” Oikawa spat with a disgusted expression, but Futakuchi only smirked at him and winked.

“I may be lazy but I’m not stinky, all thanks to you.” Futakuchi snickered then swiftly walked out of the room. Oikawa followed suit with a vexed scowl on his face which grew deeper into his facial muscles as Futakuchi added with a wave of a finger, “That’s a compliment by the way.”

“ _Please_. Save it. I don’t want it anyway.” Oikawa rolled his eyes, sighing in exasperation again. He trailed behind and tried not to hurl his boss into the ground as retaliation, but as they reached the back door of the _sake_ shop, Oikawa forced himself to calm down. Clients are more important than his petty feud with the millennial old immature boy he’s serving.

Futakuchi changed his shirt to a pure white _karinigu_ and his pants for a dark green _sashinuki_ before they entered the shop. Oikawa did the same except his was a teal colored _suikan_ instead of a karinigu and he wore it inside his white [_hakama_](https://www.handelsgillet.com/shop/patterns/japanese/rh413-heian-kariginu-and-suikan-outfits-informal-2/). They dress like modern people usually but they wear clothes familiar to them when they go into battle _and_ to impress clients, especially when open up with a question like _is this the house of an akki slayer_ or something.

Immediately as they came in, they spotted her as she did with them. She stood up from her seat in a quick motion and bowed, “I’m sorry for my impoliteness earlier.” She raised her head and continued, “My name is Shimizu Kiyoko.”

Shimizu then trained her eyes on Futakuchi, “Are you perhaps the legendary akki slayer I heard about?”

Oikawa tried not to scoff, but he did, and he got the stinky eye from Futakuchi which he only responded to with a shrug.

“Not sure where you heard the legendary part of that but yes, I am.” Futakuchi threw his head towards Oikawa and added, “This guy here is my useless assistant, Oikawa Tooru.”

He wanted to counter that because in the past year, Futakuchi had lived more conveniently than the past millennium. Though, he kind of _is_ useless when it comes to slaying spirits. Futakuchi does not need any kind of assistance except for when his fire goes a little out of control. It really was just a distasteful jest that the gods had suddenly decided to bring him into Futakuchi’s life.

Futakuchi gestured for Shimizu to sit down again as he walked towards the table to join her, asking, “Then, how may we be of help?”

Oikawa approached as well, slightly soft at the fact that Futakuchi called him useless and yet he still said _we_. Kiyoko started to speak but the phone inside his pocket suddenly vibrated, long and continuous so it meant it was a call. 

_Right_. Oikawa almost forgot he also acts as Futakuchi’s secretary because the man barely uses his handphone, whereas Oikawa keeps it close to him because it’s the one easy pleasure he didn’t have a thousand years ago on earth, and in hell.

He fished out his phone and looked at the caller I.D.— _Iwa-chan_ , it showed—and he excuses himself to a corner before he answers it. It’s Iwaizumi the Ace _Shinigami_ , Oikawa’s best friend whom he met while he was at the rehab center.

Also their #1 babysitter.

“Hey—“

Iwaizumi cut him off and didn't stop speaking until he said what he wanted, “I have an escapee. Name is Shimizu Kiyoko, black hair, black eyes, black dress. The wandering ghosts I interviewed told me she was looking for an akki slayer to help her save her partner, so please contact me if she goes to your place.”

“Iwa-chan—“

“Well, then.”

“Iwaizumi.” Oikawa sternly said in a desperate attempt for this busy shinigami to give him a portion of his time.

“Yes?” Iwaizumi responded, sounding like one of his brows was raised in suspicion as to why Oikawa said his name properly.

“Is she an escapee from Anoyo?” Oikawa hesitatingly asked. Anoyo is basically the afterlife, a place every human takes a journey towards once they die. The Sanzu River is the starting point of it, and from there, souls may be stuck in a limbo, wait for reincarnation, receive punishment, or whatever. One rule of Anoyo is that once you stepped in the Sanzu river, one must never turn back without a god’s permission, and if a soul successfully escaped or ran away, staying on the living realm for too long would make them turn back into dust and never be reincarnated again.

Some also turn into an akki.

“Oikawa, I said _I_ have an escapee.” Iwaizumi said, and Oikawa couldn’t process it at all. Did the Ace Shinigami just say he let a dead soul escape from him?

“You—“

“ _Yes_. It’s humiliating. I’ve never had an escapee since I became a reaper 222 years ago, so please, if you have the ability to be useful, report to me immediately if you see her.” Iwaizumi said, sounding dignified despite admitting he had a mishap with his job. There was a second of silence before Iwaizumi spoke again, “Wait. Have you seen her?”

“Uh. No?” Oikawa said, scratching the back of his head, and he _knew_ he made a mistake. He can perfectly imagine Iwaizumi squinting to scrutinize the littlest information laid out in front of him.

“I’m on my way to your base.” He said, then came the beeping sounds of a dropped phone call, and right now it equated to an alarm for a red alert.

Oikawa turned to face Futakuchi hastily, wanting to warn him, “Futakuchi-chan—”

“Oh. Your call finally ended? Apparently, our client is Iwaizumi-san’s esca—“

“I was just talking to him. You know he has a sixth sense so he’s on his way.” Oikawa sternly said, his eyes intense as he hoped Futakuchi would understand with his quick witted brain he uses for tons of petty cat fights. When Futakuchi’s face fell, Oikawa knew he understood.

“Should we hide her?” Futakuchi titled his head, his eyes roaming around the shop if there was anywhere Shimizu could hide in.

“Is her case worth getting Iwa-chan scolded by the deities and also getting scolded by Iwa-chan after?” Oikawa asked, tapping his foot impatiently because Iwaizumi can pop up in their base anytime now.

Futakuchi looked like he seriously weighed out the consequences for a second, and with a firm nod right after he said, “I think so.”

Oikawa nodded back in a hurry, offering a hand to help Shimizu stand as he said, “I’ll take her with me. Tell Iwa-chan I’m doing laundry.”

“Got it.” Futakuchi said with a curl in his voice as they retreated outside the shop, and when Oikawa looked back, he saw him grinning as if enjoying the chaos about to happen with his favorite reaper.

Oikawa pities Iwaizumi a lot. He should’ve just been assigned to some other akki slayers who simply kill the ones on the list given to them, but it _had_ to be them.

Well, admittedly, they do need a pacifier so maybe the upper beings were actually using their brains... but at the expense of Iwaizumi’s peace.

—

Not more than five minutes passed when Futakuchi opened the back door to scream at Oikawa, “Oi, water boy! I told you I want my clothes to be hand washed, not washed like that modern machine thing by using your fucking magic!”

Oikawa was at the right side of the minka house, the sheets that he actually washed hanging on cables, then a whirlpool of water and clothes hanging in the air in front of him like a pseudo-washing machine.

Oikawa paused the magical laundry washing, and with an exaggerated loud sigh, he glared at Futakuchi, and behind him was a confused Iwaizumi wearing his shinigami uniform of a black three piece suit with a white dress shirt. Oikawa forced down a smile.

“Yes, yes. Understood, _Futakuchi_ \- _sama_.” Oikawa sarcastically said as he bowed towards the two. If this actually happened in their daily life, he would have doused him in water.

On second thought, that wasn’t such a bad idea. Plus, it’s much more believable than him simply following Futakuchi’s orders, therefore he took a portion of water and bubbles to splash towards Futakuchi. It was a surprise attack, so he didn’t expect Futakuchi to be able to shield himself from it by evaporating it with his flames. Oikawa sharpened his gaze, and Futakuchi’s lips curved even deeper into a pompous smirk.

Futakuchi mouthed at him: _bitch, you thought_.

“I thought his water totally expunges your flames?” Iwaizumi asked, fully distracted from what he was supposed to be there for.

“That was _Ashihara-naka-Tsukuni’s_ water. It’s from the worldly realm. What I cannot fight against is the water he produces with magic.” Futakuchi said before another splash of water made out of nothing went flying to his direction, and one he _couldn’t_ vaporize, “Yeah, like this one.”

Oikawa giggled to himself as Futakuchi shouted at him, “Prick!”

“Anyway, I must be going.” Iwaizumi stated before Futakuchi stepped out into the center ground, looking like he’s ready to seriously fight Oikawa.

“Oh, yeah. Thanks for dropping by. We missed you by the way.” Futakuchi said, a childish smile on his face.

“I’m sorry I’ve only visited to deliver the list of akki and information about them. I would come by soon just to have some _sake_ and catching up then.” Iwaizumi said with a smile, bowing at Futakuchi and then making a face at Oikawa before he bowed as well.

“God bless!” Oikawa said to tease him before he dematerialized into thin air, most likely off to write a written report about his first ever dead soul escapee.

Oikawa then walked behind the hung sheets swaying gently in the air, peeking at Shimizu who he asked to hide behind it, “He’s gone now. Do you want more _sake_ or tea?”

Shimizu smiled modestly at him, “Warm _sake_ sounds nice.”

—

The three of them settled down at the house’s porch with a small table to talk while sipping warm _sake_. Futakuchi started the conversation by telling Oikawa that Shimizu was able to find them because a wandering spirit named Kamasaki told her to. From what Oikawa can remember, Kamasaki was that nosy spirit that pestered Futakuchi a lot. It’s become less recently, but when they met one time they actually got along because of course, two assholes bullying Futakuchi are more effective and fun than just one.

Next, he said that Iwaizumi mentioned that there was an official pair assigned for this job but that specific pair had encountered a huge conflict and have gone on a hiatus to prioritize it. Futakuchi tried to ask for details about the pair but Iwaizumi said it’s something he cannot disclose as to respect their privacy, but seeing the present situation, Iwaizumi actually blessed them with his guidance and permission to help Kiyoko if they were willing to do so.

“Iwa-chan’s such a softie.” Oikawa said, a palm under his chin, huffing at the thought. Iwaizumi might seem like a model shinigami who’s just a dog of the deities, but he defies the higher ups when there’s a valid reason. He’s also very fond of Futakuchi somehow, which is offensive because Oikawa knew him a hundred and more years earlier than Futakuchi did.

“He might have...” Shimizu started, and when Futakuchi and Oikawa whipped their heads to look at her, she shyly retreated back to her seat, but she quickly cleared her throat to speak again, “He might have even let me escape on purpose. I’m a bit embarrassed to be such a bother.”

“Nah.” Oikawa shook his head, “Don’t worry about that, Iwa-chan went through worse than that because of us. Can you continue about the case then?”

Shimizu didn’t look convinced, but she nodded and pursed her lips. She took a huge breath through her nose and spoke, “I was voluntarily going to come along with the reaper. I did want to say my goodbyes, but I knew there was nothing more I could do. I was already dead, so I agreed to go with him when he confirmed my identity.”

Oikawa sighed silently. He gets sad when he hears these kinds of things. Maybe he needs to visit Anoyo’s psychiatric clinic again, or a call with Moniwa.

“We were about to step into a different dimension when I heard her voice calling my name as she ran towards my dead body. I couldn’t fight the urge to look back and see her face one last time.” Shimizu said in a low tone, and despite how subtle it is, Oikawa can feel that she’s fighting back tears.

“That’s when I saw it.” Shimizu said as she looked up to stare at Futakuchi.

“An akki.” Futakuchi supplied, and Kiyoko nodded as she swallowed.

“He was wrapped in dark smoke, but I could still recognize him. I asked the grim reaper to do something but he said that it was someone else’s job and that I should focus on my incoming trials instead.” Shimizu sighed, her brows knotting towards each other in the slightest.

“Grim reapers only have defensive and protective abilities, so that’s why he couldn’t do anything.” Oikawa explained, still exasperated at the fact that the gods did not bestow grim reapers the power to kill.

Their creed, ‘ _Reapers must only take what has been already taken by fate, but not take anything according to one’s own decision._ ’ sounds right in general but at times wherein it’s an evil soul in need of death, that promise is quite exasperating.

“He told me he blessed my girlfriend with protection, and that he would immediately report the akki attachment to the supreme ones, but I couldn’t go with him in peace when I know who that spirit hanging around Mai is.” Shimizu said in a composed manner, and yet her clenched fist said otherwise.

There was a pause in the air as she took a shaky breath, and the two of them gave her the space and time she needed to collect herself. She might be dead now, but telling strangers about your life still is a feat to climb over, especially when it’s something that was meant to be private.

“I know I can trust you and that you’ll be able to help me, but it’s hard telling people about it since it’s not really mine to share.” She said, lowering her gaze.

“It’s okay.” Oikawa started as he poured another cup of _sake_ for Shimizu, “You don’t have to say it in order for us to get rid of him. What time do you propose we get to—uh, her?” Oikawa awkwardly asked as he couldn’t recall if Shimizu had said her girlfriend’s full name, and if she did, he didn’t catch it.

“Ah, yes. Her name is Nametsu Mai.” Shimizu said with a smile, and Oikawa could see the warmth grow in her eyes as she said Nametsu’s name, “How long would the protection blessed by the grim reaper last?”

“A full week.” Futakuchi answered, shifting in his seat, “Iwaizumi-san’s protection works very well. Please lessen your worries.”

Shimizu smiled with relief in her eyes, “That’s good to hear. Then, can we wait until after my funeral? It might sound selfish, but I want to come along when you get rid of him, and going right now might make me see how my loved ones are mourning over my dead self.”

Oikawa looked over to Futakuchi to wait for his decision, and Futakuchi met his gaze. While taking a deep breath, Futakuchi nodded and looked back at Shimizu, “Yes. We can wait for it. How about we do it two days from now?”

Shimizu humbly bowed at them, her voice tight, “Thank you, and I sincerely apologize for burdening you.”

“Not at all. I mean, it’s not our job officicially, but it still _is_ our job to help you.” Futakuchi said with a lighter tone. Once Shimizu lifted her head back up, Oikawa smiled beside Futakuchi to reinforce that they did not mind it at all.

Whatever Futakuchi’s reason might be for being an akki slayer, Oikawa doesn’t know, but for the reason why Oikawa was sent here to help these souls, it was to make him repent for his sins by taking orders from the gods. Despite knowing it was a job forced upon him, he really does not mind this work at all.

After some more servings of _sake_ , they arranged a guest room for Shimizu in the minka house by Futakuchi simply willing the base to do so. Oikawa led her to the room and let her rest as souls inside their base can achieve peaceful sleep unlike outside wherein they can only conceal their existence as their form of sleeping.

Oikawa went out as soon as Shimizu closed her door, and he saw Futakuchi in front of the garden, back to wearing modern clothes. He approached him to stand right beside him as he turned into the modern clothes he was wearing earlier, staring at the bright colors of chrysanthemums and larkspurs.

“Scout the akki for me.” Futakuchi said, an authoritative tone in his voice which Oikawa does appreciate at times. It makes it feel like he’s someone who actually deserves his service.

“You didn’t have to tell me. I was here to ask you permission to leave.” Oikawa said, joining his hands together behind his back, staring at the clouds.

“Mm.” Futakuchi hummed as an affirmation, “Be careful.”

“Ooh. Are you worried about me Futakuchi- _sama_?” Oikawa teases, lightly bumping his shoulder against Futakuchi.

“Shut up. I would be less worried if you didn’t have just a knife as a weapon.” Futakuchi snarled, and Oikawa would have felt touched if not for his next thought.

“Though I heard the length of our weapons coincide with that of our—”

“Futakuchi-sama.” Oikawa cut him off, fully speaking politely like a servant, “For the hundredth time, in _my_ period, men not of the royal family or the empire’s warriors are already lucky enough to be able to have a _wakizashi_. We considered short swords to be a luxury.”

“Weren’t you given a chance to have a different weapon in the afterlife?” Futakuchi continued to tease, one of his brows raised.

Oikawa only sighed, because they’ve had this conversation a lot of times already and some of them ended with ‘ _suck my dick and then you’ll know_ ’, or ‘ _only men like me with a big dick energy can handle a katana, I guess_ ’. Oikawa does not even know how Futakuchi knew the phrase ‘big dick energy’ when he claimed he knows _nothing_ of the modern society.

“You’re not that lucky in your past life, huh?” Futakuchi said, a tone in his voice that Oikawa actually found offending.

“Futakuchi-sama, please stop talking. You wouldn’t know what it was like to be an unlucky commoner back in my day.” Oikawa begged through clenched teeth, trying his hardest to keep his composure because this was only lighthearted bantering on Futakuchi’s part. Nothing about this conversation was truly meant to be condescending.

“Just shut the fuck up, will you?” Oikawa tiredly said before sighing, his straight and perfect posture wilting as if he felt a weight grow around his shoulders and neck.

“Make me, _peasant_ .” Futakuchi provoked, and the dimwitted Oikawa _did_ get provoked.

He grabbed Futakuchi’s collar and pulled him close to his face, staring angrily. _It’s just Futakuchi’s usual bickering_ , he reminded himself, but sometimes Oikawa remembers the hardships of his past life and it makes him sensitive about the simplest things. In fact, he’s still living in _that_ past life. He died, yes, but he _still_ remembers everything as if he simply continued to live. Some triggers of an individual might look shallow to others, but triggers are triggers and should be respected as such. He knows this and has educated others of it, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to tell this to Futakuchi.

“What? You’re going to kiss me?” Futakuchi said, his default shit eating grin on full and high quality display. Oikawa looked down and thought of punching him right at the mouth to knock out all of his pretty white teeth.

Times like this, Oikawa wants to tell Futakuchi he’s lucky he doesn’t have memories. He doesn’t know the hurt that past lives could give him. He’s _clueless_ , but that would be a trigger to Futakuchi as well so he bites his tongue.

“Wait.” Futakuchi suddenly said, the mocking tone in his voice dropping to something like taken aback, “You’re really going to kiss me?”

Oikawa loosened his grip and pushed the man backwards, scoffing. Knowing that it was a waste of energy and time to get mad at Futakuchi. He shrugged as he goaded, “Ah, you want to kiss me so bad, Futakuchi-chan. Don’t be shy, you can just ask for one.”

Futakuchi chuckled, a low and undeniably attractive sound. Oikawa took it as his cue to leave—or run away. He was just mad, wasn’t he? Maybe this attribute of his that he can quickly have a change of heart is also a side effect of Jigoku?

“And miss the chance of a spicy make out session because of a petty argument? I’ll pass.” Oikawa heard Futakuchi say confidently as Oikawa retreated away, hoping he’s in a safe enough distance so that if ever his ears reddened, Futakuchi would not notice.

“I’m leaving.” Oikawa announced, grabbing a dry coat from the hanged laundry and hastily teleported himself outside of their base as Futakuchi sang ‘ _laters, baby!_ ’ in its original language. Oikawa wanted to gag because despite living like a millenial old bastard, Futakuchi does keep up with the modern world or else, how could he have quoted the line of a rich kinky man with childhood trauma and issues?

Calming himself back down with a deep breath, Oikawa wore his coat and sorted out the things he needed done first in his mind. Since this akki was not on their list, Iwaizumi did not have the authority to give them information about it, and since they didn’t have the courage to interrogate Shimizu further, they know nothing crucial about the case yet.

That’s Oikawa’s job though. Information hunting. He knows a lot of Anoyo’s staff and residents for he was a social butterfly in his time at the rehab center. One call from someone and he’d know every documented information about this akki—like it’s location, rating, abilities, duration of being active, etc.

One thing that went against the plans of the gods was that Oikawa enabled Futakuchi in defying them even further due to this.

Oikawa took out his phone as he started to walk, pressing the unlucky number 4 (sometimes pronounced as _shi_ , which means death) on his phone to speed dial his informant.

“Hey, Kunimi.” Oikawa joyfully greeted right after the person on the other end picked up, “I’ve got a favor. I’d buy you the curry that that Kageyama kid advertises.”

“I don’t care.” The kid on the other line grumpily answered, then softly he added, “Buy one for Kindaichi too and we have a deal.”

Oikawa barked a laugh, “Alright. Deal.”

—

After telling Kunimi the name Nametsu Mai, the younger said he’d send him an e-mail then dropped the call. Even if this was considered unethical in the afterlife, Kunimi never received punishment for it because he works directly under the office president of the shinigami, Irihata Nobuteru. That old man’s originally good at his job, but ever since hiring Kunimi, the young man has been doing most of his job for him behind the scenes, therefore, no one can touch Kunimi Akira anymore.

Oikawa can only manipulate Kunimi easily by using Kageyama who was a friend of Kunimi’s in his previous life. Kageyama died because of an earthquake 124 years ago, but Kunimi survived. 120 years ago, Kunimi arrived at Meido and then met Oikawa in rehab because of his survivor’s guilt. He couldn’t have closure with Kageyama because souls that died due to nature were led to a special place.

He couldn’t accept the chance to be reborn yet, so he volunteered to work for the deities, and Irihata took him in, aware of the kid’s potential.

When Kunimi caught wind that Kageyama was reborn 100 years after the earthquake, he did everything he could to support him from the afterlife through the help of Oikawa’s friends that can travel to the living realm. They’re both indebted to each other, and none of them know whose debt is higher anymore so they help each other no matter what.

One time Kunimi was even able to gain permission for Oikawa to visit the living realm and to make him look younger so he could pose as a slightly older volleyball player because Kageyama, despite being a genius player, had questions only a seasoned player can answer.

Oikawa can be called a veteran because his chosen sport coping mechanism in the rehab center which he played for more than a hundred years was volleyball. In Anoyo, ultimately talented people can freely visit places as long as they were not evil in their time of living, so Oikawa met professionals. They even had an event including souls from a different country where he met his afterlife volleyball mentor, José Blanco.

Oikawa’s phone chimed like a futaku, meaning it was an important message, and most likely the e-mail he’s been waiting for as he ate milkbread at his favorite bakery. He took out his phone and downloaded the file. Everything was in it, even Nametsu Mai’s information, but Oikawa paused as he saw the picture of the akki’s human form.

Numabuchi Kiichiro. That was his human name. He was a good looking healthy man in his late twenties, one who does not look like he would be a threat, and yet Shimizu had given up a possible rest in the afterlife to seek slayers that would help get rid of his soul instead.

Oikawa scrolled down and skipped the information that would have mattered if the man was living then focused on the ones pertaining to his existence as an akki.

 _He’s an akki_. Oikawa thought to himself, because even if every single soul that turned evil was only human at some point in their lives, once they become an akki, there is no turning back.

The next part showed the report that was most likely sent to the pair who was supposed to do this job, and Oikawa quickly scanned it for its location. He got up and politely said goodbye to the sweet old lady who owns the bakery then walked his way towards his first location.

While walking, he read more and saw that the akki died of a heart attack 4 years ago. He ran away from the grim reaper that was to guide him to Anoyo, and then went into hiding for 3 years. It grew to become a medium rated akki during those years in isolation, therefore the extent of its abilities are still unknown. It has recently made an attachment to Nametsu Mai three months ago, and it caused the good karma around her to become distorted.

The akki was Nametsu’s previous partner, Oikawa read, and there were more about it in the file but he decided against thoroughly reading that part anymore. He’d rather hear it from Shimizu, or never.

Oikawa looked up from his phone to see his surroundings and then ran into a narrow street without CCTVs or humans. When it was clear, he teleported to Nametsu’s apartment to check if the akki had perforated its curse to its surroundings as well.

As his figure manifested at the front door, the neighboring unit’s resident suddenly came out, which startled Oikawa a little until he remembered he had the ability to become invisible to the human eye just like a ghost. In a quick transition to being invisible, the person passed by him without paying him the littlest attention.

“I really should stop acting like a human.” Oikawa nagged himself as he slipped through the door, not needing to open it.

Nametsu would probably be at the wake, so if there were anything that showed signs of a curse, Oikawa has enough time to cleanse the apartment.

So far in the hallway, there was nothing alarming, but as he took more steps further into the household, he felt something heavier, darker, and more sinister, making goosebumps crawl all over his limbs and skin.

Oikawa paused; frozen on his spot as a chill ran down his spine to spark his senses alight.

 _This isn’t because of an akki_. He thought.

Oikawa had done cleansing before because of an akki, but _none_ of them were like this. It’s an enveloping darkness and oppression that encircles the whole flat, an overwhelming corruption in its whole environment.

Oikawa swallows against the tightening of his throat.

 _What might have caused this_?

—

Oikawa quickly got out of the apartment, feeling the insects under his clothes dissipate but not fully as he gained distance away from the door. He wanted to see Nametsu Mai herself, so he went to Shimizu’s wake.

When Oikawa arrived, the Buddhist priest was still chanting a section from a sutra. He took a quick look to confirm Nametsu’s presence in the building, and he saw her beside two people who seemed to be Shimizu’s parents. Oikawa was glad that the family had accepted Nametsu as family despite the conservative views of modern Japan. Though that is a good sign, Oikawa can easily see the grief painted across her features, and what bothered him most was the akki nearby Nametsu. It hasn’t made a move, most likely because of Iwaizumi’s protection still in its best effect, but something still gnaws at him.

The akki was not at fault for the curse set inside Nametsu’s apartment, so where did it come from? A medium rated akki could not produce that much of bad karma, nor imprint a curse with that much weight and strength.

Oikawa shook his head softly to get rid of the panic rising in his mind. He got out of the building, taking a position at the entrance with his arms folded across his chest, still invisible to everyone.

After a while as the sunlight faded into the night, the Buddhist priest completed the sutra, signaling the end of the wake. Oikawa took another quick peek from the outside to see if Nametsu was going to stay for the overnight vigil, but Shimizu’s parents looked like they asked and convinced her to go home for some rest instead, because it did look like she needs some good sleep for the funeral tomorrow.

Nametsu then made a bow filled with respect and emotions Oikawa could not put into words. It felt like she was apologetic, guilty, and grateful all at the same time.

Although reluctantly, she did depart and started her journey home. Oikawa followed her to ensure her safety in case she faints before she gets home or to defend her from any kind spiritual attacks that could fight Iwaizumi’s blessing because individuals at grief are easier to possess due to their fragility.

Once Nametsu got inside of her door, Oikawa turned on his heels to leave.

Except he heard some neighbors talking, and he felt that same vile ferocity of the curse inside Nametsu’s apartment overtake his senses once more.

“She’s cursed. Her and that woman who died.”

“That’s what sinners get. Misfortune. They should repent for what they did.”

“Simply because her boyfriend abused her, she suddenly got into a relationship of the same sex. She does not have parents to teach her, so somehow she is also quite pitiful.”

“That Shimizu was at fault for seducing Nametsu. After her boyfriend died, she came in and lured her into sinning. She must be being punished in the afterlife because of it by now and regretting ever loving a person of the same gender.”

Oikawa froze on his tracks, but he quickly got bored of the conversation he overheard. He just decided to stop listening. He chose to turn away from those _ignorant_ fools and just clenched his jaw tightly before he could do something he would regret.

There was anger boiling inside Oikawa’s mind as he walked away, so instead of teleporting right back inside the base, he opted for a long walk.

At least one of his questions was answered.

Those were the sources of Nametsu’s self inflicted curse.

—

When he arrived back into the _sake_ shop, he noticed that there were quite a number of customers. Most were ghosts accompanied by their grim reapers for one last, worldly alcohol drinking, and one human who has the lowest rank of an akki attachment.

“Welcome back, Oikawa-san. I’ve been busy all day, do you mind taking over?” Futakuchi greeted him with a hypercritical tone, his eyes demeaning.

“Yes, sir.” Oikawa said, exhausted from the walk home mentally because he physically wasn’t.

Futakuchi seemed to take notice and Oikawa clicked his tongue silently, regretting that he wasn’t able to put his stupid facade back up before he entered the shop. Thankfully, Futakuchi didn’t speak about it, so Oikawa went ahead and served their special _sake_ for the human who has a low-grade akki attachment.

It gave him something to do other than confronting Futakuchi and giving him a report of what he found. He still has to gauge himself out on how to tell the akki slayer about how powerful Nametsu’s own curse upon herself was because of the civilians’ that surrounded her.

Oikawa didn’t have to use his brain to pour the man a shot of _sake_ , then the akki beside him immediately dispersed into nothingness as he ingested the blessed liquid. Oikawa turned on his heels to get behind the counter and he saw Futakuchi waiting for him with expectant eyes, looking like he wanted to hear what Oikawa had to report.

A different table’s shinigami raised a hand to call Oikawa, and he smiled thankfully at the overworked afterlife worker for the great timing of their call then showed it by enthusiastically taking their orders.

After that, Oikawa waved the paper he wrote on at Futakuchi, “Tuna sashimi.”

“That’s not imp—”

“Yes, it is. The guest’s a sushi master. Don’t you want to go talk to him?” Oikawa said, raising a brow as if giving a child two options; their milk bottle, or playtime with one of their favorite adults.

Futakuchi, despite having butchered and served raw fish for more than any living person could, still gets fascinated by different sushi experts and still continuously learns from them despite being a master himself. Oikawa likes that curious side of him; his thirst for knowledge and wisdom, but sometimes Futakuchi forgets himself and gets sucked into the dark routine of being an akki slayer. So Oikawa took it upon himself to never let Futakuchi lose this vibrance of his while he was still here serving him as his partner.

“So?” Oikawa prompted again with a softer grin, “Don’t worry. I’ll gather my thoughts for a moment and report everything to you.”

Futakuchi blinked and his expression lost the tension in his facial structures, sighing, “Alright.”

“Now go fetch some fresh fish and fresh wasabi.”

—

In their _sake_ shop, there are three doors: one at the entrance for customers which is also the exit, one backdoor leading into the comfort of their base, and one behind the counter labeled as “storage room” when in reality it’s a portal for Futakuchi and Oikawa that can get them to previously marked locations without needing their magical energy to work.

Futakuchi entered the said room, and it irked Oikawa that Futakuchi immediately transported to somewhere else because he didn’t even wait until the door was closed properly. Oikawa paused from wiping the glasses to pull the door shut with a pout, and _not_ because he knew that Futakuchi was meeting the immortally beautiful and ever glowing bronze skinned man on his eternally floating elegant yacht in the eternal ocean of the eternal life, Kiryu Wakatsu.

The man’s actually pretty humble when Oikawa met him, but if someone is that hot and was permitted by the gods to chill forever on a yacht as luxurious as that? Oikawa would think they’re a bit suspicious. Or maybe he’s just jealous. Though Oikawa _does_ think Kiryu deserved this kind of afterlife because he was a hero at the sea, whereas Oikawa on the other hand…

Oikawa shrugged. He has dishes to dry, and since they have a human guest, he can’t really just grab the moisture off of them and drain it into the sink so he’s using a towel. He’s also too tired to camouflage more of the shop using his magic since Futakuchi wasn’t there to support him at the moment. The dead and the shinigami are already hard enough to hide by himself.

He kept on wiping, and Oikawa got immersed in that kind of brainless and menial task when he heard a distractingly cheerful, “Yo.”

Oikawa looked behind him from where the voice came from and Futakuchi greeted him with a salute as the door creaked open not more than 5 minutes after he closed it. Time in the afterlife does not work the same as in the human realm, he remembers, and here he was hoping Futakuchi's presence would at least not bother him for 10 or more minutes.

Futakuchi walked in with a beautiful block of freshly caught tuna, already cleaned and trimmed, ready to be cut into bite sized pieces for sushi or sashimi.

"Wakatsu was offering me fresh oysters but I told him you don't like those so he's going to get us some lobsters. I'll go take it before dinner." Futakuchi stated as he started to prep his tools for the sashimi, "Also, I just remembered I got into a brawl with Kyoutani last week and Yahaba said he would make me bald if I came to their place again so get the wasabi for me instead too."

"Maybe don't flirt with Yahaba next time you visit. You know how dangerous an _inugami_ is." Oikawa warned with a bit of sterness in his voice, because yes, Futakuchi may be powerful but a dog _yokai_ could possess emotionally disturbed individuals and is _obviously_ a threat to Futakuchi as he is not only emotionally disturbed but mentally too—both for stating an insult and a fact’s sake.

Yahaba was a former aristocrat that prioritizes medicine in the Heian period when he was still living in the human realm. He met Kyoutani, an inugami he rescued from another aristocratic family, being abused by using him to curse other families to reign supremacy. Yahaba was about to be wedded into the family as a peace offering but as soon as he found out that they were burying dogs up to their neck and starving them to death to create an inugami, he chose to fight with arms and swords instead of accommodating them with papers and signatures because it would all end the same way. If this family kept an inugami and continued to curse every other surname that got in their way, even more aristocrats would have fallen than those that did in that battle.

Yahaba met his own end in that fight, but the curse was lifted. He was able to free the inugami, and now that same poor dog spirit resides beside him as a loyal servant and partner in tending the Ayano's wasabi farm. Yahaba was granted this position in the afterlife since he did something heroic and courageous, plus the fact that he was a wasabi enthusiast, whether it may be as a medical plant or an ingredient; the gods like spoiling individuals that are masters to their crafts.

"I know." Futakuchi said after a while, and Oikawa did not follow, "Maybe I'm just jealous of them."

"Of what?" Oikawa asked despite not really caring because Futakuchi says tons of seemingly sensical and sentimental phrases that turn out to be some bullshit Oikawa wished he never asked about.

"They both started with gruesome pasts, now look where they are now." Futakuchi said with a weird softness in his voice Oikawa couldn’t register when he last heard it. He hasn't heard vulnerability in Futakuchi’s voice, or even a touch of it since Oikawa served him as an akki partner, and yet right now the tiredness in his speech gave a hint of it.

"They remember their sad pasts but they're living happily in the present." Futakuchi scoffed, as bitter as it could be, "Couldn't be me."

Oikawa slowly placed the last glass he had to dry onto the rack so he could think of what to say, because he couldn't really find the words to tell a melancholic millennial old immortal who couldn't remember anything about how he lived as a living being. Oikawa wanted to ask questions, he wanted to inquire about a lot of things he was curious about, but he couldn’t ask them. Couldn’t afford to be selfish enough to ask about things like why couldn't he be happy in the present even without remembering his past? Oikawa stopped himself, because he may not accurately understand Futakuchi’s woes and misery, he does sympathize with the feeling of being jealous at how happy other people could be after they got a chance in the afterlife.

Why couldn’t they both do it?

"Envy is poison." Oikawa said with a nostalgic smile, having said these same words before.

"I know, but it’s been running in my blood right from the start so I think I'm immune to it by now."

Oikawa huffs a silent chuckle.

The gods do not know mercy.

—

After the barrage of customers and once Futakuchi left to buy beer after getting the lobsters from Kiryu, Oikawa finally had the time and the _sake_ shop to himself for some wonderful silence in solitude. They’re going to have lobsters and sashimi for dinner so Oikawa decided to make a shredded _daikon_ salad. It’s tough work because Futakuchi wouldn't let him buy a peeler that would just run through the circumference of the radish to cut it paper thin, but he appreciates how much careful attention and delicate knife skills were required for its preparation since it takes him out of his head that contains very disorganized thoughts.

After minutes of carefully peeling the daikon into a long singular and continuous sheet, he then cut it into two feet portions. He stacked all of those together and then started his favorite part which is cutting the sheets of daikon thinly, creating a rhythmically pleasant and relaxing thuds of knife against a wooden cutting board. He got absorbed into that again; just chopping off and enjoying how satisfying the sound of crunch in the air and the subtle resistance of the daikon against his sharp knife.

"That’s amazing."

A soft voice spoke out, and as if he disconnected from a network that was automatically commanding him on how to chop like a machine, he looked up to meet Shimizu’s eyes and blinked mindlessly at her, staying still in his cutting position.

"Oikawa-san?" Shimizu repeated, and Oikawa finally got out of the trance he was in so he made a flitter from his head down to his legs to fully awaken his cognitive functions.

"I'm sorry, I was too into this task." Oikawa awkwardly laughed, a bit embarrassed so he uncoordinatedly shrugged his shoulders to release its tension.

"I apologize as well. Have I bothered you?" Shimizu asked, shifting her weight to the leg behind her to take a step backward if her presence was unwanted.

Oikawa was quick to retort the idea, "No, no, no. It's alright." He smiled vibrantly, "You can continue to watch if you want? I learned this in the afterlife so I'm pretty pro at it. I'm close to finishing it though."

Shimizu seemed to fall at ease after that, but with a smile to reflect Oikawa’s, she answered, "If you permit me to.

"Of course!" Oikawa enthusiastically said, pompousness tingeing his voice as well, "I like attention."

Shimizu modestly covered her lips as she giggled, and Oikawa wished he could make her feel comfortable enough not to hide her joy behind a fist but that would be a taxing job to do. That's for the counsellors in Anoyo.

"We're having sashimi and lobsters for dinner. Hope you don't mind?" Oikawa asked as he proceeded chopping the daikon sheets.

Shimizu focused on his knife skills as well as he responded, "Fancy dinner."

"Usually, yeah. Futakuchi is treated like royalty by mostly everyone in the afterlife, but since he's lived for a thousand years, I think that's sufficient duration for him to condition a lot of people into spoiling him." Oikawa blabbered, feeling good like he was a typical employee badmouthing his boss behind their back.

"You've spoiled him a lot too, no?"

Oikawa paused and looked up, and Shimizu might have felt threatened because her eyes went wide as she pointed at his hand which was holding a knife.

Oikawa laughed as Shimizu did, then he said, "Sorry about that but how did you arrive at that conclusion?"

"I helped out for a bit in handling the flood of customers earlier and he talked about you a lot." Shimizu smiled, "Though it was mostly just whining about you not being there with him."

"Well, as you can see, I do _not_ spoil him; he's just clingy." Oikawa rolled his eyes jestingly and continued cutting again.

"I think there's a bit of truth in that statement as well." She fondly giggled.

“No, it’s the _only_ truth.” Oikawa finished as he also completed slicing the daikon.

With a heavy sigh, Oikawa then decided to speak with Shimizu about what he saw at Nametsu’s place before he reported to Futakuchi. Shimizu deserves to hear it, so while he ran the water where the daikon would be submerged for 20 minutes, he approached the subject, "I went to check on Nametsu earlier."

There was a bit of silence. Then a rustle of clothes.

"Futakuchi-san did mention it." She said, looking down on her feet.

Oikawa let the noise of the running water accompany them a bit more before he turned off the faucet, "She’s okay so far, but there's something I need to tell you, and I need to see that you can take it before I tell you."

Shimizu was quick to meet his gaze again as she stood straighter, and Oikawa admired the profound love Shimizu has for Nametsu to be able to brave this affliction. When she gave a firm nod and her beautiful dark eyes filled with passion, Oikawa understood that she would do anything to protect Nametsu.

Oikawa released an exhale, bracing himself before he bears some bad news, then he said, "Alright. Let's sit down."

—

By treading the topic with sympathy and high sensitivity, Oikawa started to tell Shimizu what he found and started off with the good news; Nametsu was cared for by the family and that they let Nametsu take a rest for the night instead of staying over the vigil because she looked worn out, which led them to the bad news. Oikawa told her that the akki attachment may not be able to physically harm Nametsu but it could still have slight effects on her mental and emotional state especially due to the fragility of both at times of mourning, which also led them to the worst part of it.

When Oikawa spoke of the self-inflicted curse he saw inside the apartment, Shimizu tensed up. Her muscles were tight, her jaw was clenched, her hands were formed into a fist, and her eyes, though they were downcasted, were fierce with anger. Oikawa slowed down a little and when he finished, he waited for her to speak to let her digest the information as long as she needed.

Oikawa wasn't sure what kind of answer he was expecting, and in fact, he wasn't even expecting one, but Shimizu simply took a deep breath and composed herself.

"Her previous boyfriend was abusive." She started, and Oikawa did not know how to react so he just stared, thankful that Shimizu wasn't looking his way.

"Four years ago, I was supposed to represent her in court as her lawyer but he died the day before the trial while beating her up again due to a heart attack." Shimizu said, the hostility in her eyes growing more intense, "We worried that Mai might get suspected of having caused it, but the autopsy showed that his heart was severely clogged and that he had a rare genetic risk factor linked with premature heart disease. He was also a heavy smoker which was also a risk factor."

Shimizu gritted her teeth, "Mai was exposed to second-hand smoking a lot and her lungs aren't in top condition like it used to be. It was like routinely punching her in the guts wasn't enough internal damage already."

Oikawa couldn’t help but glance down on his hands clasped together on top of the table. He couldn’t do anything, he couldn’t say anything. He could only sit there and look down on his hands which resembled what praying looked like, and instead of feeling hope like some do when they assume the praying position, the heaviness and anger in his chest swelled even more.

"We lost contact after that because my services weren't needed anymore, but we coincidentally met again in a cafe after some months." She said, and Oikawa heard her tone soften as she recalled the memory, "She looked way better. She had no injuries anymore and she started eating better as he stomach recovered. She also goes to her counselling sessions religiously."

Shimizu sighed, "That was how it started. We just started to fall in love, really."

Tucking her hair behind her ear, she humbly said, "We’ve been together for exactly three years today. We were supposed to be flying to Belgium to celebrate."

Oikawa must have had an amusingly shocked expression because Shimizu snickered when she looked at him, then she said, "It’s okay. I was planning on proposing to her to get married in a different country, but it’s better to die before I could make a promise I couldn't fill."

There was lightheartedness in the way she said it, but Oikawa still wanted to comfort her, yet the words at the tip of his tongue were only filled with what could have been her regrets so he just shut his mouth and bit his tongue. Shimizu was so strong to be able to see this in a logical perspective and with a rational mind, perhaps that's what led her to having a career as an attorney, but Oikawa’s sure she must be suffering as well.

_It's better to die before you could make a promise you couldn't fill, huh?_

Couldn’t be Oikawa.

“I was scared to propose, honestly. One of the factors of that was exactly what you heard from her neighbors but it wasn’t just them. Some of my relatives were also against it.” She said, some of the insecurities she had hid so well suddenly showing, but Oikawa didn’t doubt her feelings because there was a loud decisiveness in her voice when she said, “But I wanted to be with her, and I was so sure that I would never want to part with her ever so I gathered the courage to do so on our third anniversary.”

Shimizu looked down again and smiled sadly, “Funny how that ended up, huh?”

Oikawa wanted to speak, he had been silent for too long, but Shimizu raised a question specifically for him.

“Oikawa-san, what do you think about the gods and fate?” She asked, not meeting his eyes because she’s unsure of what Oikawa might say. Would it be something patronizing? Something bad? Something that would make her lose hope?

Oikawa could only be honest, so he answered.

“I’ve personally met a lot of them. Even some very frightening, powerful ones.” Oikawa started, then he titled his head to the side and stopped himself from rolling his eye as he said, “They’re mostly fucking annoying.”

Silence hung in the air for a hot second, but when Oikawa and Shimizu’s eyes met, they simultaneously blurted out shameless, loud cackles.

Oikawa thought it was progress that she didn’t cover her mouth this time.

—

After dinner, Oikawa washed the dishes with his water bending skills while Futakuchi watched him. The two of them talked like civilized people in front of Shimizu but as soon and she walked out of the _sake_ shop, Oikawa decided not to acknowledge his existence.

Futakuchi was only looking at him, silently demanding him to report like he promised he would and like how an obedient servant would, but one, Oikawa doesn’t keep his promises, and two, he’s not a servant. At least he doesn’t voluntarily label himself as one so until Futakuchi uses his ability to speak and communicate with him, Oikawa’s ignoring him.

After washing the dishes, Oikawa walked out of the _sake_ shop like he didn’t have company and headed towards his room. He did hear a faint ‘ _really?’_ before the door closed behind him which made him smirk.

Futakuchi would follow him to his room, he’s sure of it. Might as well start writing a written report for Iwaizumi and the other deities so Futakuchi would have the option of hearing it from Oikawa or by reading it.

10 minutes into the word document in his laptop (thank god Futakuchi did not force him to manually write reports traditionally with a brush and ink), Oikawa saw light from the hallway peer into his dimly lit room as someone entered accompanied by the hush sound of the door sliding open. His back was facing the door but he’s sure that that’s Futakuchi because obviously, they’re the only ones around and Shimizu would never sneak in someone’s room unannounced unlike Futakuchi who purposely did _not_ knock to irritate Oikawa.

He kept typing, the click-clack of his keyboard filling the air with tapping sounds. He heard his bed creak which made him pause for a millisecond, but he only pouted and kept on typing.

Oikawa fixated on doing the report so he didn’t really notice when Futakuchi decided he could comfortably lie on his bed _under_ the covers until Futakuchi said a single, “Hey.”

Oikawa ignored him with a slight eye roll, forcing himself not to use his peripheral vision and just focus on his screen, but Futakuchi makes it hard to focus, especially when he busted out a surprise with the first question he asked.

“You okay?” Was what he asked, and Oikawa’s fingertips ceased their movement to let his brain rerun the scene that had just happened.

“Why did you feel the need to ask that?” Oikawa responded as he typed in the last part of his report for the day, then he swiftly turned his seat, the wheels making a sound against the wooden floorboards as he crossed his arms.

Futakuchi was looking at the ceiling, the blanket covering him up to his chest with his arms on top of it, his hands clasped together politely as if he doesn’t sleep like a feline cat who thinks they own the whole place.

“I wanted to.” Futakuchi said, and it softened Oikawa’s irritation away a bit, especially when he added, “How are you doing?”

Oikawa took a deep breath through his nose, held it in with a grimace, before he sighed out loud and released all the tension in his muscles along with the crossing of his arms and bared himself open.

“I feel like shit.” Oikawa admitted, and that brief openness was enough for the night so he turned his back from Futakuchi before their gazes met. He connected the laptop to the printer and started to print the report out.

He waited for the printer to warm up and make noises before he spoke again, “Something about this case makes me feel like shit.”

“Is this _something_ you’re not comfortable enough to share?” Futakuchi asked, and if Oikawa would give him credit, he did sound sensitive and genuine enough. If Oikawa just didn’t know _better_ , he would have taken advantage of this scenario to use the immortal as a free session with a shrink.

“I’m not comfortable with _you_ , that’s what.” Oikawa spat, second guessing if he should have let out all the frustrations he kept in a while in that one statement.

“What is it you hate about me so much?”

Futakuchi asked with a quiet voice, and Oikawa stopped still.

Outside, Oikawa was calm, but inside his skull, fire alarms were blaring and cannon balls were being fired from one lobe to the other.

Futakuchi always answers provocations with a stronger provocation and never an honest self-doubt so why start now?

“A fuck ton, asshole.” Oikawa answered because if he starts going out of character just because of the current case they have, a lot worse things might occur to everybody. One of them must keep doing his role, stay in character and do it really well without breaking.

The last paper rolled out of the printer, filled with text, and Oikawa collected them, arranged it in a chronological order before organizing it inside a folder and clamping it all down with a bulldog.

When Oikawa showed signs of recovery during rehab, he was assigned to be an assistant for an office-based shinigami slumped with paperworks day in, day out. His name was Akaashi Keiji, also known as the most efficient shinigami office worker. He’s also the beloved partner of the most efficient shinigami field worker, Iwaizumi. They’re the most overpowered couple in Anoyo, but if Oikawa’s being mean, he would say Iwaizumi’s just a trophy husband to Akaashi. He’s like this majestically beautiful and powerful being that has Godzilla in a leash.

In fact, Akaashi is kind of their boss’s boss; he’s the first person in Anoyo to receive their reports before he passes it on to the higher-ups. Iwaizumi and Akaashi are on equal footing, and when Iwaizumi does something stupid or reckless (which is more frequent than what an Ace Shinigami should be doing plus Oikawa and Futakuchi’s), Akaashi wouldn’t scold him (or them) verbally, but _would_ effectively send his message and preaching with a simple glare.

“Akaashi-kun would for sure be taking 10 straight shots of espresso when he gets this report.” Oikawa said to fill the silence since Futakuchi stayed silent, then he braved to turn his chair again to hand his boss the papers.

Futakuchi looked fine—he didn’t appear mad, sad, offended or whatever. When Oikawa rolled his chair towards the bed, arms stretched out to hand him the report, Futakuchi sat up properly and met his hand halfway to take it, opening it immediately all business-like.

Oikawa let him scan the report in silence, just staring at the immortal, attentive for any kind of twitch on his facial muscles.

Then Futakuchi’s forehead started to wrinkle, and his expression slowly turned grimmer and grimmer as he flipped through the pages.

“Fuck.” Futakuchi whispered after a while, making a sharp sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose, “What time does she get out of the apartment?”

“Seven, usually. I was thinking we could go there past eight to make sure.” Oikawa answered, knowing what exactly was going through Futakuchi’s head.

“I’m going to sleep.” Futakuchi said, and Oikawa pouted since he thought Futakuchi was going to claim his bed for the night, but the man stood up in haste and headed for the door instead.

Oikawa’s chair creaked softly as he subtly turned to watch Futakuchi’s back, and when the door slid open, he looked away.

“Oikawa-san.” Futakuchi called and Oikawa instinctively whipped his head back to its former position to look at who called him. Futakuchi was at the doorway, and then he turned his neck to meet Oikawa’s eyes as he said, “I’m glad you went home instead of doing it yourself like the last time.”

Then just like that, Futakuchi looked away, walked out, and quickly slid the door close.

Oikawa stared at the door for a moment before he relaxed his body and leaned back into his seat. His eyes naturally fell at where Futakuchi had laid earlier, wondering if it would be warm enough under the covers to chase away the shivering fright that kept creeping upon his skin since earlier.

Oikawa sighed. Tiredly.

He stretched his hands outwards and then pulled it into a tight fist before he tucked himself into a ball, hiding his face, pressing his eyes against his arm.

 _Winter is so cold_.

—

It was half an hour past eight in the morning when Oikawa heard the minka house’s front door open. He dissolved the clouds watering the garden and then stood up like a soldier greeting his commander.

“All set?” Futakuchi asked him and Oikawa gave him a small smile to answer yes.

“You informed Shimizu-san, right?” Futakuchi saidas he passed by and Oikawa fell in step with him.

“Yeah.” Oikawa nodded as they walked, “Somehow.” He chuckled, “I left breakfast in the house with a note we’re going out for the cleansing.”

They entered the shop and went straight ahead to the portal room. Oikawa marked Nametsu’s apartment yesterday for easier transportation.

“Alright.” Futakuchi said as the door closed shut. He placed a hand on Oikawa’s shoulder and smiled encouragingly, “Purification day.”

Oikawa teleported them to the apartment’s genkan, their invisibility abilities activated just in case someone was still inside. They would take off their shoes if they have to, but as part souls, part humans, they don’t really leave footprints or such.

With Oikawa’s ability to detect water content and Futakuchi’s ability to detect heat, they both knew the apartment was empty except for the glooming atmosphere they came to chase away and vaporize.

“This is so bad.” Futakuchi commented, his eyes tense as he inspected the hallway. With an awkward tweak, Futakuchi looked at Oikawa and offered, “You can just stay here.”

Oikawa swallowed, it hasn’t even been a minute but he could already feel cold sweat emerging from his skin.

Last time he encountered this kind of curse, he almost got himself absorbed while trying to cleanse it, and now he’s facing something even stronger than that one. He might be acting a little bit too panicky right now, but Oikawa thinks he has every right to be.

“Oikawa-san.” Futakuchi said, his tone tougher this time with a heavy hand on his bicep and it woke Oikawa up; made him realize just how deep he let his nails had dug into his palms while he almost gave in to the fear and anxiety.

“You’ve done your part in taking me here. You don’t have to get in there with me.” Futakuchi said, giving him a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m fine. I’ve been given the duty to accompany you as your partner by the deities—“

“Well, _fuck_ the deities.”

“None of them are really my type—“

“Oikawa-san.” Futakuchi cut him off, very firmly as he held Oikawa’s gaze, but Oikawa unrelentingly stared back.

“Futakuchi. I’m _fine_.“ Oikawa persuaded. He licked to wet his lips with his tongue nervously and softly muttered, “I’m with you this time anyway.”

A pause. Then Oikawa listened while Futakuchi took two sets of deep breaths before the grip on his arm loosened, and then a sigh before it let go completely.

“Okay.” Futakuchi started, then Oikawa looked up, “I’m with you.”

Oikawa closed his eyes with a shallow breath, then he nodded as they finally made movement into the apartment. Deepening his intakes of oxygen, Oikawa started to sprinkle blessed water from Takamagahara on the floor and walls they were walking through, agitating the deeply seated curse in the home and triggering it to come show itself. Futakuchi was right behind him, highly alert in case the provocation causes anything that needs steadfast defenses.

They went to every corner of the apartment before deciding to settle at the living room where the air was the heaviest and coldest.

Oikawa made one final slash of water against a wall and the darkness immediately reacted as it creeped out from where it hid, heavily enveloping the whole apartment in a terrifyingly dark and grave atmosphere. Oikawa was starting to chew on his lip when Futakuchi stepped in front of him and pulled him to stand behind him.

“I’ll start.” Futakuchi said, and without further ado, he closed his eyes to focus.

Oikawa felt warm instantaneously; he felt Futakuchi’s powers gracing the floor with a compassionate heat, spreading into every corner.

After it covered the whole apartment, Futakuchi snapped his fingers and flames ignited out of nowhere, overpowering the blackness that covered the walls and lighting the apartment in a beautiful hue of blue. The heat accumulated but it was still comforting.

It was eerily quiet for a while, just the sounds of the fire eating away at what it was permitted to touch by its controller, but then the screams and moans of agony kicked in, surprising Oikawa as it pierced through his ears, causing a painful ringing inside his skull. The demons were quick to start their chatter. They were Nametsu’s and his own; their voices overlapping each other but their words perfectly clear and understood inside Oikawa’s head. Their whispers of his deepest fears, greatest sins, and worst nightmares grew stronger even as he held his head inside his hands in a futile attempt in blocking his ears.

They were luring him in, taking him, consuming him, _devouring_ him.

Should he just let them?

Oikawa felt someone hold him up and stabilize his posture which made him realize he was close to kneeling. He could hear that something was being said to him but he couldn’t really hear it from all of the noise clutter he was being flooded with mentally, so he forced his eyes to fixate on what’s real right in front of him and saw Futakuchi.

He was still speaking so Oikawa used his strength to focus on reading Futakuchi’s lips. His vision started to haze and blur, but he was able to make out what Futakuchi was saying.

 _I’m here._ He said.

 _Oikawa-san, I’m here_.

Then like a lungful of fresh air after drowning, Oikawa heard Futakuchi’s voice with his own ears.

“Oikawa-san.” Futakuchi repeated, his eyes utterly worried as he softly shook Oikawa back to consciousness.

Oikawa had enough strength to snicker as he mockingly said, “I’m with you, _worrywart_.”

Futakuchi’s mouth hung a bit like he was confused, his expression still concerned, then he sighed in relief after a while and smiled. 

“Welcome back, _asshole_.”

—

Oikawa woke up and saw an unusual ceiling. It felt familiar but he couldn’t really tell if it actually is.

He sat up in haste and scanned his surroundings. The last thing he remembered was Futakuchi teleporting them to somewhere after the flames along with the curse died down to nothingness.

The doorknob made a sound as it turned and someone came inside, the look on their face surprised that Oikawa was awake.

“Oh. You’re up already.”

Oikawa sighed as he laid back down on the comfort of the mattress and flopped his arm above his head, closing his eyes, “Of course we crashed at Mr. Refreshing’s clinic.”

Sugawara, or whom Oikawa likes to call Mr. Refreshing due to a lot of reasons (good and petty ones), is basically the doctor for non-living beings residing in this realm. He’s their healer equipped with plants from Takamagahara and abilities blessed by the gods, and that’s about everything Oikawa knows about him.

“Take your shots.” Sugawara said as he settled a tray containing two small shot glasses on top of the bedside table, “I’ll tell Futakuchi you’re awake so be a good boy and drink those.”

Oikawa takes a peek at the shot glasses. He’s familiar with both liquids but he hates both the clear liquid and the disgusting blend of herbs.

“Do I _really_ have to drink the green one?” Oikawa muttered under his breath.

“Quit whining. You haven’t been taking care of yourself, and yes, our bodies do not deteriorate physically like humans but it still does.” Sugawara nagged, standing imposingly in front of Oikawa’s comfortable clinic bed.

“Can’t you create better tasting potions.” Oikawa complained, but he still downed the shot of plants and chased it down the _sake_ blessed solely for healing purposes. As quickly as the drinks went down his esophagus, a weird tingling sensation spread across his body, signaling that he is starting to heal in some kind of celestial way.

Sugawara was still in the room even after he finished, so he raised a brow at him to ask why.

He shifted his weight to lean on the door as he said, “Take a shot of the special _sake_ when you get home.“

Oikawa was taken aback, a small bit of panic at the back of his head, “Did it—“

“No, no.” Sugawara stopped him, “I would’ve administered it to you already if it infiltrated you like last time.”

Oikawa closed his mouth, not in the mood to ask questions or doubt facts out loud at the moment, but still doubting.

“Oikawa, nothing happened. It only stressed you out to the point of collapsing, but— It’s just to make sure, okay?” Sugawara said, his voice smooth, comforting and reassuring.

Oikawa rolled his eyes close and turned to lie flat on his stomach, “Shut up, Mr. Refreshing.”

Sugawara laughed, angelic and light—which annoyed Oikawa even more because this guy’s a whole scam for not being as heavenly as he looked like.

“You feel better soon, pancake-kun.”

“Stop eyeing my ass!”

“I wasn’t. I was referring to your love for pancakes.”

“I prefer waffles. Now, get out.”

—

Oikawa was still not feeling well enough to teleport or to walk home so Sugawara drove them back to their base instead. He fell asleep on the way and when he woke up, he was inside the comfort of his familiar room and under his favorite warm blanket.

He sat up and didn’t feel dizzy, which he took as a good sign. Next, he looked at his bedside table and saw a set-up of what seemed like a heat-resistant container and a porcelain _tokkuri_ propped up under a subtle flame. There was a handwritten note by its side and it read:

_Got you some milkbread rolls to help you recover faster. Put out the flame after you wake up and then eat. You can just rest tonight, but make sure you can go fight an akki by tomorrow._

Oikawa chuckled through his nose. Futakuchi’s note sounded so monotonous, flat and boring. The millenia old guy is either a no fun jerk, or a typical asshole. Oikawa dislikes both an equal amount.

Oikawa felt good now, thanks to Sugawara’s concoctions probably, and also most likely the milkbread too, but as his physician said, he needed to take a shot of their anti-evil _sake_ just to make sure.

He folded his blanket away from him and then swung his legs to the side so he could serve himself. He poured _sake_ onto the _ochoko_ provided by Futakuchi, and he made a wooshing sound through rounded lips before he took the cup and downed the drink, closing his eyes tight.

He counted to 10 as he waited, and...

 _Good_. He thought.

That’s all he felt and tasted. No excruciating pain like something was being clawed out from his flesh and insides like the last time. The _sake_ was just _sake_ , a special one at that but still just a good tasting, magical _sake_.

Oikawa opened his eyes and settled the cup back down on the table.

Then he stuffed himself with milkbread rolls to fight off the bad memories.

—

_Oikawa was suffering._

_This time it wasn’t hell’s flames engulfing him and suffocating him, causing his agony. He wasn’t falling into an eternal pit of nothingness._

_He was drowning. He was drowning into something densely deep and dark, threatening to consume the remaining brightness inside of him, daring to kill what remains of those that make him who he is._

_Oikawa was being turned into something he is not._

_Or was it his true self? Was his hidden hideousness simply being brought out into the light for everyone to know just how corrupt his being is?_

_That’s right._

_Yes, he is._

_He should just give in and let it all go._

_Forget everything._

_Give up._

“—kawa-san.”

 _Hm_?

“Oikawa-san.”

 _Ah._ Oikawa’s brows automatically knotted, then he turned his back away from the gentle voice as he stopped himself from slapping away the careful hand on his shoulder, softly nudging him as an encouragement for him to wake up.

“What time is it?” Oikawa grumpily asked, his voice gritty and laced with tiredness from the dream. Of all the nightmares his brain could choose to dream about, it chose the scene of that one time when he attempted to disconnect and cleanse an akki that infested its own room after death.

 _Goddamnit_.

“It’s almost eight in the morning. Nametsu leaves at nine. Shimizu-san’s ready to go too. We’ll wait for you.” Futakuchi informed him with a rush in his tone as if he’s impatient about something. It didn’t feel like it was Oikawa he’s waiting on because if it was Oikawa, he would have woken him up by nagging him instead.

“What is it?” Oikawa asked as he stretched like a cat on top of his bed. Futakuchi made a nasal sound so he added, “You sound restless.”

Oikawa flipped to his other side and Futakuchi let go of his shoulder as they made eye contact.

“Oh. Do I?” Futakuchi paused, then he sighed in an irritated manner, “Kogane’s taking too long to arrive.”

Oikawa chuckled, “Big bird? We really should just hire him. He’s here almost every week anyway.”

“He’s a free spirit.” Futakuchi shrugged, “Literally.” He finished with a suppressed smile.

Oikawa laughed shamelessly.

He blamed it on the fact that he just woke up, hence his shallow humor, but Futakuchi cracks up some corny jokes in line with his type of boring humor so yeah, he _likes_ Futakuchi’s jokes. The difference this morning was that Oikawa let it _show_.

Then out of nowhere, a muffled shout rang into the minka, calling, “Futakuchi-senpai!”

The two of them gave each other a knowing look. 

“Well,” Oikawa smiled, “There’s your very free spirited free spirit.”

—

Oikawa wore his suikan and hakama because among a lot of things in common between him and his boss, they both like fighting in the garb they have a link of familiarity with. Futakuchi may not have memories of him fighting in his karinigu, but he may still have a connection with it as he must’ve worn it a lot in his days. In fact, Oikawa thinks it’s very fitting that Futakuchi wears such clothes for akki slaying missions since it was originally used as hunting clothes back in that period.

As Oikawa went out of the minka house, he saw Kiyoko watering the plants in the garden with a small smile, wearing the same black dress patterned with strawberries all over it when she first came here.

Oikawa walked towards her and greeted with a suppressed sigh, “Good morning.”

Shimizu looked his way and nodded as she saw him, “Good morning.” She greeted back and then eyed the flowers before she added, “Thank you for all you’ve done so far.”

Oikawa raised his shoulders, “It’s our job.”

Shimizu dismissed the humility with a soft snicker, then she asked, “Say, I’ve heard larkspurs are toxic that it can irritate the skin when touched and deadly when consumed, but I’m dead now so can I touch them?”

“Unfortunately, these are special ones from the High Heavenly Fields and could still affect both humans, spirits and everyone in between.” Oikawa answered, staring at the closest larkspur bloom in front of him. It was a pink larkspur which symbolizes contrariness and it made Oikawa chuckle, “It’s my birth flower.”

“Oh.” Shimizu reacted, “It’s pretty.”

“Yep. It’s the perfect representation of me.” Oikawa stated, half percent of his tone sounding pompous and the other half being disparaging of himself.

Shimizu opened her mouth to speak but the backdoor of the _sake_ shop opened, Futakuchi’s head popping out of it and saying, “Good. You’re both here. Come inside, quick.”

The two of them followed inside and Oikawa noticed Koganegawa, a tall young man in his eternal teens with bleached hair and a dark spiky fringe in the middle reminding Oikawa of a chicken’s comb, already preparing whatever he might need for running the shop while their unit was away. They were obviously all set to leave so after a short greeting of acknowledgement towards Koganegawa, Oikawa intended to lead Shimizu into the portal room but Futakuchi held up a hand to ask them to stop where they were standing.

“Okay.” Futakuchi nervously started, and Oikawa doesn’t really get _why_ the man would even be jittery at this point of his life when he’s been putting akki down here and there for a thousand years.

“Shimizu-san, you see.” Futakuchi started again, then he rummaged through his pockets and brought out a tiny box covered in black velvet cloth. He handed it out to her and shyly bowed his head, “Your parents haven’t sorted out your belongings so I got Kogane to collect this one. I know you said you wouldn’t want us to tell her you’re actually with us, but I thought you could give it to her yourself like you would have been able to.”

 _Oh_ , Oikawa got it now. Futakuchi wasn’t being _coy_ , he was _ashamed_ of himself, and he _should_ be. He _asked_ Koganegawa to _collect_ the ring Shimizu was supposed to propose to Nametsu with? More like he _ordered_ for the innocent ghost to _steal_ it.

There was an easy silence as Shimizu raised a hand to grab it, or so Oikawa thought because her hand simply hovered above the box. Oikawa then brought his attention to her eyes instead, and there he saw a whirlpool of hesitation swallowing her focus. With one blink, it all cleared again.

“Futakuchi-san,” She said as he dropped her hand back to her side, “I truly am grateful for the door of opportunity you’ve opened for me.”

She took a deep breath, curling her fists decisively, “But I think it’s fine that she wasn’t able to know about this. It’s also a good thing you got it before my parents did because I’m sure they would’ve given it to her as well.”

Another pause, and then she finished with finality in her voice, “I really do think it’s better this way. Thank you for the chance though.”

Futakuchi looked speechless as he awkwardly nodded, “A-ah, I see.”

Shimizu smiled, “You can have it as my payment for the service.”

“Oh.” Futakuchi raised his brows, then his lips formed a no-good smirk and laughed acquisitively, “Gladly.” He gestured towards the portal room, “Shall we get going now?”

Futakuchi let Shimizu walk past him and waited for Oikawa so they could walk together, giving Oikawa a chance to nudge his waist and say, “You should be thrown in hell for your greed.”

“Hey,” Futakuchi started, sounding like he has all the rights to be defensive, “I don’t ask my clients for payments but when they voluntarily offer it, why should I decline?”

“Courtesy?”

“Nah, it’s impolite not to take gifts, Oikawa-san. They wouldn’t even need these material things in the afterlife.” Futakuchi said as they got past the counter. He then patted Oikawa’s back and said, “Warm up the portal, I have some few errands for Kogane.”

Oikawa looked over his shoulder to glance at the two as he nodded. He doesn’t like listening in on other people’s conversations so he just shrugged and looked ahead to see Shimizu. He widened his steps so he could grab the doorknob first and open it for the two of them, “Let’s get inside, shall we?”

Shimizu went inside the plain wooden room first, and she looked confused so Oikawa supplied an explanation, “Wood is a great conductor of magic, and when we teleport, we’re like water seeping through the wood and then to the other end.”

Shimizu made a silent _ah_ and then nodded.

Oikawa opened his mouth but quickly pursed his lips shut and joined his hands behind his back. There was something bothering him and he wanted to ask about it but he couldn’t bring himself to.

Then Shimizu spoke, “You want to know why, right?”

Oikawa jerked from his place to stare at Shimizu, astounded, “Are you a psychic now?”

“No, I just thought I’d address the elephant’s presence in the room.” Shimizu jested with a humorous expression, then it simmered down into a wistful one as she said, “Don’t you think it’s better to just cut it off?”

Oikawa looked away and stared at the floor as he listened.

“She doesn’t have to know what should have happened because it’s never going to anymore. She shouldn’t be tied down to the _what ifs_ and _what could haves_. Mai would just hurt more if she did.” She said, and Oikawa admired the fact that even though it was painfully obvious she was hurting, her voice did not waver at all.

Oikawa kept silent because he knew what she meant. Understood it word for word because in his experience, wondering the _what ifs_ and _what could haves_ does hurt, but tasting a chance of living it is a kind of torture way more painful than it would have been if it stayed as _what ifs_ and _what could haves_.

Futakuchi came inside not long after with a bright and toothy smile as he clapped his hands together and said, “Let’s go?”

—

This time, Oikawa transported them on a discreet street near the apartment complex. There were no humans around so he and Futakuchi camouflaged their traditional robes with modern clothes and then took off their invisibility.

They trotted their way to Nametsu’s apartment and no one talked while they walked since they had a briefing last night after Oikawa woke up.

When they arrived at Nametsu Mai’s front door, it was Oikawa who knocked and he did it three times. They waited for a response, then a muffled sentence telling them to _please wait a minute_ passed through the door.

“Hello, good morning.” Futakuchi spoke but it was hoarse so he cleared his throat before speaking again, “We’re here to see Nametsu Mai?”

The door opened slightly, wary of meeting total strangers, more so when it’s two tall men, “Yes? I am Nametsu Mai.”

Oikawa waited for Futakuchi to answer but he heard nothing. He eyed his boss and saw the movement of his eyes looking like a signal, and a distress one.

Oikawa stopped himself from frowning as he faced Nametsu. He looked straight at her brown eyes.

“Nametsu-san, I know this will sound weird.” Oikawa started, and it might not have been the best line to start off with because he saw Nametsu slightly take a step back inside the apartment. Oikawa swallowed and just went for it, “You may not believe us but Shimizu-san sent us.”

Nametsu scoffed harshly, looking like she was insulted, “Is this some kind of joke?”

Oikawa and Futakuchi bowed their head low in humility. They looked at each other, and Futakuchi took the chance to speak, “It’s not. We can prove it to you if you need us to.”

Nametsu looked like she was about to throw them out without even letting them in so Oikawa took his shot.

“Strawberries.” Oikawa said hastily, and all of them stared at him in confusion.

“Shimizu-san told us you like strawberries.” He said as he brought up the container of strawberries he brought with him, “We can enjoy them inside whether or not it was from Shimizu-san or not.”

“And why do you think I’d let you in?” She asked, glaring at him.

“I know you wouldn’t, and in normal circumstances, it _is_ the right thing to do, but you have to trust us.” Oikawa said, lowering the basket back to his side as he muttered, “I wouldn’t want your neighbors to see us and start whispering to themselves too, but believe me when I say we’re on _your_ side.”

Nametsu didn’t seem to be convinced with what Oikawa told her, but she was moved enough to give them a second thought. After a few more seconds of staring at each other silently, she opened the door and let them in.

Oikawa obliged and moved his feet to get inside.

Nametsu was fixing her brown hair in a left ponytail when she asked, “Promise me you guys aren’t murderers?”

Oikawa paused halfway in the doorway with his mouth hanging open.

In this kind of scenario, should he just straight out _lie_?

He felt a strong push from someone which replaced his panic to irritation, and Oikawa looked back at Futakuchi to curse him but his chocolate brown eyes were dark in a silent scolding. Futakuchi wore a forced smile as he entered the apartment and shut the door close. He properly bowed at Nametsu politely, then he stood tall as he changed his modern clothes to his kariginu. Futakuchi ordered Oikawa to do the same with a knot of his right brow.

This time it was Nametsu’s mouth hanging open.

Futakuchi grimaced and nodded sympathetically, then he said, “We’ll explain.”

—

The akki attached to Nametsu was in hiding, so Futakuchi and Oikawa took their time with the long talk about who they were and how Shimizu sent them, and the two of them handled it very smoothly. They gave Nametsu the vaguest information she needed, showing her a splash of water from nowhere or a floating fireball here and there to distract her, all just to validify their profession as an akki slaying unit. Shimizu didn’t really talk much, she just listened in, and one time Oikawa even caught her staring at Nametsu as if she’s memorizing her face, taking every littlest details of her into the afterlife.

“Wait—” Nametsu tensed during a conversation about the strawberries they brought, “Why would akki slayers come visit me then? For sure you’re not just here to deliver these strawberries from the high realm?”

Futakuchi slowed the pace of their conversation by nodding first. He then waved his hand towards the strawberries, “As mentioned, these are strawberries grown in Takamagahara. They’ve also been blessed, and we brought these to you because we need you to consume it.”

“For what?” She asked, and the two of them looked at Shimizu between them which looked like they were just looking at each other for Nametsu.

Shimizu gave them an affirmative nod and uttered, “She’s strong. She can take it.”

Futakuchi sighed heavily because sometimes their job feels a lot like they’re surgeons. It’s the “there’s a pathology in your anatomy and we’re going to cut it out.” kind of thing, but it’s not only the patient whose life force would be at risk.

Oikawa looked at Futakuchi to sign that he could deliver the news to Nametsu, but Futakuchi politely refused his offer with a shake of his head and a smile.

“Nametsu.” Futakuchi started in a serious tone, and that attracted all of her attention, “Your previous partner before Shimizu turned into an akki.” Futakuchi paused so she could digest that for a moment, then he added, “Shimizu went to us for help because she saw it attached to you.”

As a helpless reaction to something so absurdly terrifying, Nametsu choked a laugh, “That demon’s dead and he still manages to torment us?”

“The shinigami that picked up Shimizu graced you with protection, and we’re here to follow that up with a severance.” Futakuchi comforted, softening his voice even more to encourage Nametsu to calm back down.

“Eating the strawberries would break the bond he made with your life force. You may faint after the separation, but rest assured, we would handle the rest and once you wake up, everything would be fine.” Oikawa said, moving the strawberries closer to Nametsu to urge her to take a bite.

Nametsu had the same look of weariness in her eyes like the first time Oikawa saw Shimizu, but as the anger faded, there was also the same kind of strength and decisiveness in her as she took a strawberry and ate it.

Futakuchi and Oikawa watched out for any change as she did that.

“How long does it take to be effective?” Nametsu asked after swallowing, and Oikawa was just about to answer _anytime now_ when she suddenly lost consciousness, almost dropping down to the floor. Thankfully, Futakuchi has quick reflexes and caught her in his arms.

There was a howl that reverberated throughout the room.

It was _unmistakably_ a complaint of an absolutely outraged akki. Next, they saw a floating figure cloaked in a thick fog of darkness regard them with a stare before flying out through the window.

Nametsu still in his arms, Futakuchi gave Oikawa a look, and Oikawa gave him a look back.

A look that said _you know what to do_.

—

Oikawa chased after the akki by teleporting himself close to the akki as far as his eyes could see and freezing the condensations of water in the atmosphere as platforms on his desired landing to better his mobility. He could fly if he wanted to but he never really liked flying while chasing something; it gives him motion sickness.

He observed from behind and he saw that the akki did not appear like it was running away, so he hypothesized that it was more likely that the akki was leading him somewhere.

When Oikawa saw the akki land on an abandoned playground, he transported himself there immediately and saw that the spirit had stopped trumping around. Oikawa was right that he was being led someplace else.

Oikawa chuckled, “Time to cease to exist and bring the next generations of your family some bad karma, buddy.”

He formed a long spear of ice inside his hand and aimed it at the akki, which the spirit easily dodged, as expected of a medium rated akki, so Oikawa formed five of it. It hovered over his full arm span, and when the akki moved in to attack him, he sent all five of the spears to pin the spirit to the ground.

There was a horrifying screech that echoed into the skies above which meant that at least one of his spears made contact, and one of them was successful in pinning the akki’s limb. The water Oikawa froze for these spears was from the Sanzu river—the river every soul should cross before they arrive at the afterlife. It’s a river wherein a soul could either pass though by the bridge, the shallow part of it, or the deep part of it according to the relevance of their sins. Using its water against akki means weighing them down and their existence by using the mass of their own faults against them.

The akki let out another shrill piercing cry as Oikawa moved closer, a stake made out of ice forming in his hand, ready to slay the akki.

That was where he made a mistake; he put his guard down, underestimating the akki in front of him as a simple medium rated evil ghost.

As he retracted his hand upwards to stab the akki’s chest to end it, he was suddenly ambushed with an immense aura of pure wickedness. It felt like his lungs were being filled with dark smoke. He choked on the air he was breathing, and the akki did not let that chance pass as he tightly held his neck to squeeze and absorb the life force out of him.

Oikawa does not technically need oxygen, but the sensation was close to the feeling of knowing you’re losing it, _a fuck ton of it_ , and in less than a minute, you’d be _very_ close to blacking out permanently.

The fog of blackness grew bigger and it surrounded the two of them like a cocoon, then the akki spoke, its voice sounding hardly like a human anymore.

“You…” It growled, “You’re barely human.” Then the dark swirling ashes around its face created an opening to show a smile, “Just like me.”

Oikawa couldn’t spit back a pithy retort, he just coughed, gagged, and rasped an incoherent response which humored the akki even more, whispering right beside his ear, “But you’re weak. Even weaker than that other immortal you were with.”

The akki threw his head back and let out a rumbling sound that resembled laughter, generating an ice cold shiver down Oikawa’s back.

“You’re filthy, and yet you act like a human.” The akki mocked, like he was ashamed of how Oikawa was living out his own spiritual afterlife, “Can you survive my wrath, you weakling? Or would you get drunk on it and lose yourself?”

The fog covering the akki’s eyes cleared, and Oikawa stared back at two blackholes, alluring him to give up his control and simply allow the void to devour him.

It was _very_ tempting, but Oikawa smirked and tried his best to appear as cocky as he could be while he was being choked to death.

He then materialized his knife into his palm. The plain wooden handle of his [_moroha_ _tantō_](http://www.samuraisword.com/nihonto_c/SOLD/Yoshindo_moroha_tanto/index.htm) familiarly resting against the lines of his palm. He curled his fingers around it, and with all his force, he stabbed the double-edged blade deep into the akki’s chest. When the hands around his neck loosened even just subtly, Oikawa freed himself and used his other hand to push the blade even further.

Oikawa was hungry for air, and when the akki bellowed so loud due to the pain that even the birds in the vicinity felt threatened enough to flee, it made it feel like he could finally breathe better.

He insultingly smiled and spoke, “The blade of my knife went through _hundreds_ of years burning with me in hell.”

He licked his lips and squinted at the akki, “No words can explain how excruciating that felt.”

The akki attempted to touch his face, but it only powerlessly grazed him which made him chuckle, “You’re lucky you’re only experiencing it for some seconds, but which of course, would feel like decades.”

Adrenaline and norepinephrine were giving him a euphoric high as he spoke so close to the akki’s face, “Imagine that for a handful of _centuries_.”

He twisted the knife and plunged it deeper, “Your wrath is not even _close_ enough to make me tipsy.”

The akki started to burn away, revealing its original form when it was still human, and yet Oikawa thought there wasn’t really any difference.

“Between the two of us…” Oikawa whispered, his eyes burning with enormous resentment and fury, “ _You’re_ the weaker one.”

—

“Hey.” Oikawa whispered as soon as he materialized in Nametsu’s apartment, “I’m back.” He said and flopped down on the floor beside Futakuchi.

Nametsu was lying down on the couch, still out.

“Could you please drag out the remnants of the akki? It’s taking too long.” Futakuchi said, his pointing finger tapping onto the table impatiently.

“She’ll be fine, I can feel it. Don’t worry.” Shimizu said from the other side of Futakuchi. She then nodded at Oikawa, “Welcome back, Oikawa-san. Is that a scratch on your cheek?”

“What?” Futakuchi hissed as he whipped his head to inspect Oikawa’s face, “What—”

“Ah-hush.” Oikawa shook his head and raised a hand up to stop Futakuchi’s rant, “I’ll take care of it. It’s just a scratch, I can probably heal it myself.”

Futakuchi didn’t look too happy with that conclusion but he let it go with a loud sigh of disdain. As Oikawa stood up, Nametsu started to stir awake. He let Futakuchi handle that one and took off to go to the bathroom.

He locked the door behind him as he entered and frantically looked at the mirror to see his reflection. He could see the small tear on his cheek, and it wasn’t too deep. It also didn’t have any hint that it may have been infected by the akki’s darkness. Those facts calmed him down and he involuntarily watched the anxious wrinkles on his own face melt into an expression of relief.

Oikawa’s also a healer, it was something about water having healing properties. A minor physical or spiritual injury is no big deal for Oikawa, so then he formed a string of water using his pointing finger in front of him and let it stay afloat. He then proceeded to dip his hand in it to collect a droplet of water and tap it into the scratch. On the fifth droplet he tapped into the wound, it finally made it disappear completely.

It _was_ a normal scratch. Nothing to be scared of.

Oikawa closed his eyes and said his gratitude to no one in particular.

—

Somehow, someway, Futakuchi was able to convince Nametsu to wear her pink version of the strawberry dress to the grave just like how Shimizu wanted her to, but _only_ if he would turn her invisible for the hour that they would be there.

When they arrived at the site, the two of them decided to stand two meters away from Nametsu and Shimizu, and the couple looked lovely in their [strawberry dresses](https://lirikamatoshi.com/search?q=strawberry+dress).

“Do you think she sees me right now? We were supposed to wear matching strawberry dresses in Belgium.” Nametsu asked, sadness seeping into the tone of her voice.

“Tell her she’s pretty.” Shimizu ordered, and Oikawa followed.

“Of course. She would also be very glad to see how beautiful you are.” He said, and when Nametsu giggled, he raised a brow at Shimizu as if asking for a compliment.

Out of nowhere, a gust of wind and a loud sound of impact made Oikawa silently shriek away from Futakuchi. Nametsu didn’t react so it was an act of a non-human. 

While feeling like a fool, Oikawa calmed himself because it was only the free spirit, Koganegawa. He suddenly landed beside Futakuchi à la superhero style with one knee and one hand on the floor, the other leg in a 90 degree angle, and his free hand up and holding something important.

“Senpai.” Koganegawa greeted with a salute, and as soon as Futakuchi grabbed the object he was holding up for him, he dematerialized, singing, “Toodles!”

Oikawa didn’t have the chance to say _what the fuck_ out loud and inquire about whatever it was that had just occurred because Futakuchi left him in his place to approach Nametsu and stand beside her. Oikawa was still baffled by that bizarre incident, but he shrugged it off to watch Nametsu and Futakuchi’s backs because though Futakuchi makes tons of weird actions, some of it makes a lot of sense in the end anyway.

Futakuchi handed out the object he got from Koganegawa to Nametsu, saying, “Here, for you.”

Both Nametsu and Shimizu looked at him in expectation, then Nametsu asked, “ _Omamori_?”

Nametsu took the amulet of a small rectangular green silk pouch in her hands and Futakuchi smiled proudly as he said, “It’s a _yakuyoke_ specifically. A charm to ward off evil.”

“Is this a gem glued on the fabric?” Nametsu asked, and Oikawa got curious so he raised himself by his toes to take a peek.

“It’s a one carat cut of a rare kind of green garnet called tsavorite. It’s supposed to be a stone which helps the bearer to make and maintain their own destiny.” Futakuchi explained as he covertly winked at Shimizu, and this time, Shimizu really looked impressed and grateful.

Futakuchi added, “I had it attached to the fabric with a special kind of glue so it would never come off. Meaning, this amulet doesn’t have an expiration date just like the gem.”

“It’s beautiful.” Nametsu radiantly said, then she gave Futakuchi an inquisitive look, “Is it for me? Because why are you giving something so precious to me?”

Futakuchi paused as he simply looked back at Nametsu, and while Oikawa watched, he thought they could pass as siblings. Oikawa did find it funny that this thousand year old immortal could still fit as Nametsu’s younger brother since he’s trapped in an eternally 21 year old body.

“It’s an unasked favor.” Futakuchi said as he genuinely smiled at Nametsu and Shimizu. They mirrored it back ten times wider.

“Thank you.” Shimizu and Nametsu said almost at the same time, and Oikawa wondered if that’s an actual thing soulmates simply do even after death.

Oikawa then assumed that the luxurious gem they definitely have no budget for was the stone on Shimizu’s supposed engagement ring. Maybe that was the errand Futakuchi had for Koganegawa.

“Well, then. We’ll get going.” Futakuchi said while nodding. When the couple nodded back, Oikawa joined Futakuchi as they bowed and bid goodbye. They’ve already contacted Iwaizumi and he was scheduled to pick up Shimizu later.

Oikawa and Futakuchi walked away as courtesy of acting like humans, so Oikawa spoke, “You gave up a rare garnet? A _green_ gem?”

“I’d admit, it was pretty hard to let go of, but I did keep everything else.” Futakuchi smirked and winked, which was an awful picture to store inside Oikawa’s head, but it’s already there. Tons of it, in fact.

“Everything else.” Oikawa reiterated, interested in what it meant.

Futakuchi brought out another small silk pouch from his pocket and laid out its contents, to which Oikawa reacted with an unbelieving sigh. Futakuchi looks like a good man with the proper manners but _only_ if you don’t know _everything else_.

["Diamonds](https://www.heidikjeldsen.co.uk/jewellery/jewellery-collections/birthstones/01-january-garnet/glorious-deep-green-natural-tsavorite-brilliant-cut-diamond-and-platinum-ring/) are a girl’s best friend.” Futakuchi sang in its original language with a wacky grin as he eyed two good cuts of ⅓ carat diamonds on top of his palm.

Just to tease Futakuchi and poke him from above his high horse, “Stop quoting Western pop culture when you told me you’re a _traditional_ Japanese man. Unless you’re ready to admit that you’re also keeping up with the modern society.”

“I could do that.” Futakuchi said, swinging his head side to side as if he was considering, then he looked at Oikawa sideways in a slightly awkward angle as he deepened his tone, “But I refuse."

Oikawa bursted into laughter—because he didn’t expect the reference—then he concealed it with a mocking cough, “Quoting Kishibe Rohan is not as impressive as you think it is.”

“Twitter would prove you wrong.”

“Oh, _dear_.”

—

Later that day, Shimizu would accompany Nametsu for a while more, and on their way to the coffee shop where they first met, they met a fortune teller named Saeko.

Nametsu was asked to pull a single card, and she pulled The Chariot. Saeko then explained to her that The Chariot meant moving forward—that progress is about to come. Saeko then advised her that changing her point of view or environment could do her some good; hence, moving houses or travelling somewhere she hasn’t before would be a good first step if she’s been thinking of doing it for a while. Nametsu looked convinced when she gave a warm smile and a grateful nod to Saeko while she paid for the service, but Saeko held her wrist and told her to keep it.

After that, Saeko looked straight at Shimizu and gave a curt bow. This caused Shimizu to stay with her for a moment to get an explanation, and Saeko told her that Futakuchi ordered Koganegawa to get her in the loop about this mission and requested her cooperation. They did not give her a lot of details as it may influence the card reading, but they did say that her presence was needed to fill in the gaps of Nametsu’s memory after they have altered it.

Shimizu quickly followed Nametsu into the cafe and she settled in her seat as Nametsu was ordering a macchiato and a cordato. The coffee drinks came shortly after, and just like how it was for the past three years, Nametsu smiled across the table like she could see Shimizu. As if she was aware that they were looking at each other eye to eye.

With a deep breath, Shimizu materialized the vial Oikawa gave her that contains a concoction of flavorless liquid to eliminate all otherworldly aspects in Nametsu’s memories and alter it in such a way that it would make sense in real life.

Shimizu saw a familiar man dressed in a dashing attire come inside, then she realized it was Iwaizumi, her fetch. They caught each other’s gazes and Iwaizumi gave a nod of acknowledgement as a sign that he would wait for her to do whatever it is she has to do.

Nametsu started to stir her coffee like she always does, and Shimizu poured the liquid carefully. When the vial was empty, Shimizu sat comfortably in her seat and looked at Nametsu one last time to say goodbye.

—

“So…” Futakuchi said as they passed a lively park, elongating the syllable as long as his lungs could.

“Are we going to walk all the way home or what?” Futakuchi whined grumpily as he held his lower back like a curmudgeonly old man—which he _is_ , actually, in all facets except physical.

“Walking is fun.” Oikawa merrily acclaimed as he raised his arms up to the clouds, stretching his arms and back while he ignored Futakuchi muttering that _it isn’t_ under his breath.

There was a short shout of displeasure from somewhere, immediately followed by a high speed ball flying their way. Its trajectory was going towards Futakuchi, and instinctively as they saw it was a volleyball, Futakuchi got into position and received the ball properly, propelling it high up in the air.

“Nice receive.” Oikawa chuckled, eyeing the ball then eyeing the players on the open court and then the ball again. He then jumped from under the ball to meet it halfway, and he set it enough for a long, concave trajectory.

Someone in the court caught the ball in their hands and stared at the two of them, then this guy with red, spiky hair chortled, “Y’all wanna join? We’re short of exactly two players for two full teams.”

Then another person spoke, deep, monotonous, and commanding, “You should play setter for my team.”

Oikawa scanned the court for the individual who said that, and when he spotted him, big, tall, and strong looking, Oikawa couldn’t utter a single word.

Futakuchi tilted his head, checking the guy out and eyeing him up and down, “You got him impressed already.”

Oikawa’s mouth was dry, and he couldn’t speak.

“What?” Futakuchi asked as he nudged Oikawa who was frozen still in his place, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Oikawa blinked softly as he was finally able to fill his lungs with a sufficient amount of oxygen.

“Walking was a mistake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i said i’d just wing this without a lot of research bc it’s just (fan)Fiction and that i can abuse my creative freedom all i want but there was One Night while i was writing this chapter, and it was spent all on fucking research. :DDD (i didnt spend as much time for the tarot card reading tho so if you’re a tarot enthusiast, i’m sorry if it’s underwhelming and if u could offer me some advice, i’d take it Very Gladly.)
> 
> i worked on this chapter intermittently for Months but still Months nevertheless and i realized: wow i don’t check my word count but this is fucking Long for just one chapter (and as i wrote the fight scenes, i realized that this is Way Too Fucking Long so i kinda made some shortcuts). i got slumped by the akki scene in the apartment (and a whole lot more other scenes) bc i dont think im good at describing the outside/environmental atmosphere. i’m used to writing abt internal darkness??? and i suck at both right now. (these are just excuses tho.)
> 
> and btw, you’d notice how Old this chapter is bc of the strawberry dresses since i started writing this during the Hype of the strawberry dresses and ive seen a fuck ton of haikyuu fanart of it (for both male and female characters) so one time i thought of kiyoko and nametsu wearing it Together bc theyd be cute af. idk if someone made fanart them together yet but yeah. that, in my brain = pretty.
> 
> it’s a first for me to have this much of characters and relationships/chemistries in one fic (some of them i only came up with while writing this chapter) so i hope im doing my characters justice and that the characterization/chemistry building is pretty okay. this fic is a lot of firsts for me and a lot of them are outside of my comfort zone so hehe.
> 
> sorry for always rambling on the a/n. yall have to get used to it, esp if it’s a long ass chapter bc then i would have Tons to say.
> 
> anyway, thank you for going through that. hope you’re still interested enough to press the next chapter button. mwa <3


	3. forgotten pasts.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> does the past really matter?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will i ever not have smth to say? no.
> 
> anyway, i wanna share that i had an outline for this (wc is more appropriate to call a broken line tbh) and i could barely follow that. a lot of things in this fic were not planned, and if you’re curious, there would be a google document of my notes at the last chapter’s a/n of this fic so you could see for yourself just how much was done on this fic that wasn’t planned at all.
> 
> hope you enjoy chapter three! not sure if this would be a long chapter as well but we’re getting some backstories in this. (oh and apparently a short bit of smut too??? it would be all in italics and it might be confusing and unsexi but hey, it’s a miracle i’m including seks on this fic)
> 
> but god, there’s so much ( _WAY TOO MUCH IN MY OPINION_ ) dialogues in this fic. I SUCK @ making dialogues !!
> 
> started writing on 10 feb 2021

“I told you we shouldn’t have walked home.” Futakuchi argued, condemning Oikawa for a decision he obviously was really, seriously, and deeply regretting by then which can be clearly seen with how pale he looked like.

“Oh, crucify me, why don’t you?” Oikawa retorted with an exhausted growl, his legs jittering in place as he weighed the options of running for it or magically disappearing with a _poof_ just to save himself.

“Okay, tell me what’s wrong.” Futakuchi spoke with concern in his voice like how an employer would speak to an employee, facing Oikawa. He had his hands on his lower hips as he stared, but Oikawa avoided meeting his gaze.

Oikawa couldn’t look at him. He couldn’t show _this_ side of him to Futakuchi.

Not to _anyone_ for that matter.

When Oikawa didn’t answer, Futakuchi sighed, “Is it another _something_ you’re not comfortable to tell me about?”

Oikawa truly thought about it for a second, and instead of saying yes and being honest about it, he put his game face on as he said, “Nah, this is nothing.”

Before Futakuchi could even refute that _blatant_ lie, Oikawa walked towards the open court and friendlily waved a hand up, “We’re joining the game!”

Oikawa decided on this—why? Because he thought that playing volleyball with a _ghost_ from his past would be better than being with Futakuchi himself who he could _accidentally_ open up to and unwittingly reveal the skeletons he’s piled inside his closet to.

Oikawa approached the red haired guy and introduced himself, “My name’s Oikawa To—” He paused awkwardly, then he smiled wider as compensation, “Oikawa. My name’s Oikawa and that guy’s—” He nodded towards his companion’s way, “Futakuchi.”

The guy wiggled a short and thin red brow at him as he spoke, “Nice to meet ‘ya! I’m Tendou and this big guy is Ushijima.” 

The broad and muscly guy opened his mouth to speak so Oikawa faced him but did not look him in the eye as he quickly spoke, “I’m sorry, I won’t be your setter.”

Right after that he turned his back on them and motioned for Futakuchi to come closer and come with him on the other side of the court, “Come on! We’re playing on this side!”

“Is that a challenge?” Ushijima asked, sounding a bit humored even though the deep rumble in his voice overtly signalled competitiveness.

Oikawa shrugged his shoulders without looking back and answered, “If you want to be.”

After the duo walked back to their side of the net, his and Futakuchi’s team started to gather for a meeting and instantly, Oikawa was voted to become their leader. Futakuchi crossed his arms and pursed his lips at that but didn’t say a word because he’s aware of Oikawa’s charisma and leadership when it comes to volleyball himself.

Once the meetings, greetings and courteous bows we made, the game commenced shortly after.

—

It was a tedious volleyball match, and one he didn’t expect to play in by casually walking in on at the park. The scores were 23-22 in favor of the other team, but in this rally the opposing team sent back a free ball so it was a chance to even out the scores.

The first receive wasn’t the best pass, so Oikawa had to rely on their best option for an attack at the front line, Futakuchi.

He tossed the ball to the left perfectly, but Tendou, who was apparently a _monster_ blocker, immediately followed the set. Futakuchi seemed like a decent spiker, but years of volleyball inactivity made him a bit rusty so for the nth time that match, he got blocked again.

Futakuchi growled in frustration as he landed back on the ground and Tendou cackled, proudly standing in front of him, “You’re pretty good for someone out of practice! You’ve successfully scored about 50 percent out of all your spike attempts.”

Tendou raised his shoulders and then said with a teasing tone, “That’s still a lot of wasted amazing tosses though.”

Futakuchi exhaled, which seemed as if he had nothing to say to that which was a rare sight for Oikawa, and he suppressed a chuckle when all Futakuchi could say was _whatever_.

“You’re not much of a spiker, are you?” Oikawa whispered as they stepped back into their positions while they waited for the next serve.

“I’m _decent_ but compared to that bazooka…” Futakuchi nodded towards Ushijima who was doing his ritual before sending yet another brute serve towards their side of the court, “Obviously, I’m _not_.”

Oikawa chuckled, and when Ushijima made his toss for the serve, Oikawa zoned out everything else except his serve. There was the toss, the run up, the swing, the impact, and in a snap, Oikawa just _knew_ that the ball was aimed and was headed towards him.

Somebody called out his name as moral support to receive the ball, but it was wasted because in a blink, the ball connected with his forearms with his body in a flawed positioning, throwing the ball out of the court and pushing Oikawa flat on his bum.

“You dead?” Futakuchi asked, his voice without a hint of concern and literally looking down on him instead of offering a hand to help him up.

“I wish I was.” Oikawa muttered to himself, standing back up by himself as the ball was thrown back to Ushijima for another deathly serve.

Tendou sang ‘ _don’t kill them, Wakatoshi-kun!_ ’ at Ushijima and Oikawa’s eye twitched.

For the next serve, it was Futakuchi that claimed it, and he _did_ receive it, but the ball went straight back to the other team. Tendou bumped it beautifully for the first touch. Ushijima was at the back so Oikawa hoped the ball wouldn’t be tossed to him, but the setter still chose to send it to him for a back attack.

Oikawa was ready to lose, and so were his other teammates in the front line because no one but Futakuchi jumped against Ushijima. He faced that _bazooka_ alone and _blocked_ him completely. For the second time.

The thud of the ball against the floor was loud, and the next sound they all heard was Tendou giggling, “So his first block wasn’t a fluke?”

Futakuchi sighed in relief as if he’s been waiting for that to happen like when you held in your pee for too long and finally released it. He then looked at Ushijima and said, “I’m getting warmed up. In the next set you’ll be anxious to spike because of me.”

Futakuchi turned his back as soon as Tendou started to snicker and teased both him and Ushijima. Oikawa saw a competitive-asshole-pout on Futakuchi’s lips and he thought it looked kinda cute.

“Should’ve warmed up faster.” Oikawa taunted as he gave Futakuchi a quick glance, but Futakuchi was in a zone so he ignored Oikawa.

Their teammate made a good serve but the other team received it and bumped it to a good height. They all knew it would be a quick set to Tendou, and Futakuchi’s timing, placement and synchronicity with their other teammate were all perfect for a kill block, but then Tendou made a feint.

“Ya!” Futakuchi exasperatedly shouted with no restraints in midair.

Oikawa tried to reach for the ball, but he failed, and he smiled in helplessness as he heard Futakuchi grumble a curse and a whine that _that feint was way too dirty_.

“Oh, do I make you mad?” Tendou provoked, using a tone that someone would use when they’re talking to a child.

“Coward.” Futakuchi spat back.

“But I won, didn’t I?” Tendou sang as he made a face at Futakuchi.

The teams quickly acted to change courts, and when Ushijima passed by Oikawa, he proudly said, “You should’ve come to my team.”

Oikawa, for the first time, looked at Ushijima in the eye and held his gaze.

“Yeah.” He nodded, then softly with an unchecked vulnerability in his tone he said, “I should have.”

Oikawa cleared his throat as he turned away and crossed over under the net. When he stood up straight, Futakuchi had his arms crossed while blankly, silently staring at him. When Oikawa mouthed _what_ , Futakuchi only raised a brow as a _what_ back. Oikawa rolled his eyes.

They were preparing for another set when out of the blue, someone’s phone started ringing. It was for a member of Oikawa’s team and after he picked up the call, he said he already had to go. Since they’re incomplete, others decided to leave as well, including Oikawa and Futakuchi.

They were all mostly strangers but playing a team game with strangers gives someone a sense of togetherness so they all politely said their goodbyes and warm smiles.

“It’s a shame we didn’t get to play more.” Ushijima said to both Oikawa and Futakuchi.

“You’re lucky you don’t have to face my blocks.” Futakuchi jeered as a bait to irritate Ushijima, but it didn’t affect Ushijima at all.

Tendou, on the other hand, grabbed the bait and threw it back to Futakuchi, “ _You’re_ lucky you don’t have to be blocked by me anymore.”

Ushijima huffed what seemed like a laugh and both Futakuchi and Oikawa awkwardly looked at each other. Tendou laughed harder and said, “Even Wakatoshi-kun thinks it’s funny!”

“Ha-ha, we’re going now.” Futakuchi responded and then turned his back, “Bye!”

Oikawa swiftly fell into step with him as they all parted ways, then Futakuchi sneakily whispered as if he was saying confidential information to Oikawa, “I think he was that guy who plays for Japan’s national team.”

“No wonder why he’s overpowered then.” Oikawa said back, wondering if that Kageyama kid sets for Ushijima.

“And I blocked him _twice_.” Futakuchi boasted, holding up two fingers.

Oikawa scoffed, “Oh, is that what this is about? You’re literally a millennial year old geezer and he’s, what, over two decades old?”

“What? It’s not like he didn’t garner that kind of power himself from his past lives.” Futakuchi pouted, sulking that Oikawa did not participate in boosting his already huge ego.

Oikawa sighed through his nose, “Looks like it.”

 _Shit_. Oikawa hated that he sounded vulnerable even to his own ears. The good thing is Futakuchi didn’t mention it.

They stayed quiet for the walk all the way back to their base. Futakuchi accompanied his lonely silence without any complaints this time.

—

Oikawa was drinking warm _sake_ at the shop after the night shift ended instead of crawling into bed and sleeping because a soul doesn’t really need sleep as much as humans do. He’d rather cope with alcohol tonight than sleeping, but then out of the blue, Futakuchi entered through the back door, and without a word, grabbed another ochoko and sat himself across Oikawa.

“You weren’t invited.” Oikawa murmured as he tipped his head backwards.

“Get out of my property and stop drinking my craft then.” Futakuchi snapped back then poured himself a shot and drank it as soon as it was filled.

Oikawa took a deep breath because as much as he wanted Futakuchi to leave him alone, he really couldn’t because he owns the place _and_ the drinks.

“There’s a lot in your mind, can’t you at least tell me one thing out of all that _something_?” Futakuchi said, his voice gentle and not prodding.

Oikawa’s walls were weak enough at that moment to entertain the conversation, and also because Futakuchi must be thinking about the same topic but not exactly the same as Oikawa’s concern.

“Shimizu-san said it’s better to not know the _what ifs_ and _what could haves_.” Oikawa opened up with something he knew Futakuchi would agree with.

“Right.” Futakuchi answered, pouring the two of them another shot.

“It’s a dream.” Oikawa said, caressing his cup of sake as he fixates his vision on nothing.

“Is it a nightmare?” Futakuchi asked, taking his shot and immediately pouring himself another one.

“Not yet.” Oikawa answered, taking a sip of _sake_.

As Futakuchi’s cup clinked against the table, he asked, “Do you want to wake up?”

Oikawa’s hand paused in the air.

Does he want to wake up?

Oikawa asked himself again inside his head.

Oikawa chuckled as he settled down the cup back on the table and turned his head left to right, “No.”

He turned his head to look at Futakuchi, then he muttered, “It’s better not to wake up.”

Futakuchi met his gaze while he was pouring _sake_ to his cup again, then he said, “As an equivalent exchange, should I tell you something too?”

Oikawa snickered, then he raised his shoulders as he said, “If you want to.”

“I admire people who aren’t scared to love.” Futakuchi started, and then he glared at Oikawa as a warning not to laugh at him because there was a small smile that formed on Oikawa’s lips.

“I know it sounds dumb, but seeing people like Shimizu reminds me of those kind of things. I’ve been immortal for a millennia, and I’ve run away from it everytime.” Futakuchi said it as if he was saying a joke.

“What’s stopping you?” Oikawa curiously asked, because if humans who had a lifespan of less than a century had time to fall in love and get heartbroken a fuck ton, what’s stopping an immortal?

“I have a prophecy.” Futakuchi said and his voice began to sound more serious than Oikawa thought the topic would be.

“There’s someone that I would end in the future.” He said, and Oikawa wondered what _end_ in that context actually meant.

“It said that only if I end them without hatred but with love will I be given the chance to be born again.” Futakuchi downed his shot of _sake_ , “It sounds cheesy, but that’s a prophecy for you.”

“Okay, but that doesn’t directly answer the question.” Oikawa jestingly said to lighten up the atmosphere.

Futakuchi looked vexed, “Should I really spell it out for you?”

“I don’t really do well with prophecies.” Oikawa scrunched up his nose and squinted as he shrugged.

“Whatever.” Futakuchi huffed, pouring another shot, “Maybe I'm terrified of the possibility that I have to kill the person I'd fall in love with.”

“Ah.” Oikawa paused, he was taken aback, “But, hear me out. Ending someone doesn’t exactly mean killing them though.”

“Shut up. I know that but haven’t you heard that the gods _love_ drama.” Futakuchi bleated and then took his shot.

“Oh, don’t I know that.” Oikawa sarcastically said as he put his legs up on a chair and tilted his head back to sit more comfortably.

They were silent for a while and they both just sipped their drinks, but Oikawa couldn’t help but ask what was on his mind.

So after two more full cups of _sake_ , he asked, “What will happen if you don’t follow what was said in the prophecy?”

“I don’t know. It’s been hundreds of years and they still haven’t told me.” Futakuchi hummed in contemplation, “Maybe I’d cease to exist? It’s the opposite of rebirth, isn’t it?”

Oikawa had a thought, but Futakuchi was the one to say it out loud.

“Though I do think that that would be a pretty merciful punishment. In fact, it won’t even be one in my case.” Futakuchi mused easily, not hiding the fact that after living for a thousand years, it would be considered as a blessing if he would simply stop existing.

“Maybe they’d force me to live forever as a sad, pathetic, and lonely old man.” Futakuchi said, blinking softly as if he had accepted that path for himself, “Or maybe the prophecy was a joke and this, right now, is my punishment already because that sounds like my current way of living.”

Oikawa joined him in laughter out of politeness. Futakuchi doesn’t like showing vulnerability the same as Oikawa and turning serious topics into dark comedy is one way for the both of them to cope and adapt to these kinds of situations.

“Time heals wounds, they say. I would have all the _fucking_ time in the world by then. Maybe I’d be able to learn to live with it. I’m optimistic.” Futakuchi rambled, and Oikawa blew raspberries.

“A sarcastic optimist.” He said.

Futakuchi made a clicking sound with his mouth and winked, “Still an optimist.”

The futaku at the front door rang, and they were ready to chase them away if it was a customer but instead it was a man dressed in a three piece suit, saying, “Hey, sorry I’m early.”

It’s the ace shinigami, Iwaizumi. He gave them a tight smile as he asked, “Ready to report?”

Both Oikawa and Futakuchi groaned as they planted their faces onto the cold surface of the table.

—

“Akaashi-kun can _really_ be scary, huh?” Oikawa shivered as they walked out of the shinigami office after their report. If Oikawa had the right to decide, he would get the hell out of Anoyo right now and just wait for Iwaizumi back at their base but he didn’t. Iwaizumi told them to stay put and wait for him until the higher ups were done reprimanding him.

“Pretty faces are scary when they’re angry.” Futakuchi murmured as he awkwardly stuffed his hands into his pockets and shifted his gaze around as if something unpleasant would pop up anytime.

Another similarity they have is their deep hatred for other realms because they’re more likely to bump into entities they have aversion with than in the worldly realm, and just as Oikawa had thought, he saw an individual obnoxiously dressed in a leopard print set of suit and pants.

“ _Shit_ .” Oikawa cursed under his breath, then he turned to the opposite direction they were going to as he shouted in a whisper, “ _Other way, other way_.”

Futakuchi looked confused as to why they’re turning away from the best _dango_ place in Anoyo but he did follow Oikawa as he asked, “Who did you see that made you give up dango?”

“ _Matsukawa_ .” Oikawa said in the same manner, and when Futakuchi was about to turn his head to glance behind them, Oikawa swung an arm over his shoulders and grabbed Futakuchi’s nearest arm to pull him close, “Don’t _look_ , you idiot.”

“Wasn’t ‘ _Matsukawa_ ’ the human name used by _Fujin_ —”

“Hush—” Oikawa hugged Futakuchi close by the neck and covered his mouth with a hand as he said, “Don’t fucking say his—”

Then comes a gush of wind, “Hey! Oikawa-kun.”

“Fuck.” Oikawa pushed off Futakuchi and saw him _smiling_ like he said the god’s name on purpose, so he doted a finger right on Futakuchi’s chest and said, “And _fuck. You_.”

“I’ll go eat dango.” Futakuchi said, raising his thumb to point at the direction they were supposed to go to originally. He greeted Matsukawa in a friendly manner to piss Oikawa even more before he skittered away for the dango.

“How’s it going?” The wind god asked as he floated on his fluffy cumulus clouds in front of Oikawa, messing his carefully styled hair with the wind that the god’s existence naturally creates.

“Sorry ‘bout the hair.” Matsukawa said with a lazy smile.

Oikawa gawked at the god, then he blew his fringe upwards, “You did it on purpose.”

The god innocently raised his shoulders asking _did he,_ as if daring Oikawa to tell him the truth that _yes_ , _he did_ . He’s done it every time they meet personally and frequently when Oikawa’s minding his own business back on earth. He must be jealous because his dark, curly hair was always on the move from all the wind surrounding him. Though Oikawa admits that the wind god _could_ be hot with his looks and messy curls _if_ he just wasn’t the wind god wearing a leopard print suit and pants.

“Okay, I’ll reduce the wind at your base for the month.” Matsukawa said, his tone lackadaisical but it sounded like music to Oikawa’s ears.

“Thank _god_ , for that.” Oikawa exclaimed exaggeratedly because the last time he actually _prayed_ to the wind god and asked to stop making the bells at their base _fucking_ stop ringing, the bells rang harder.

“You know I’m the god you should be thanking, ri—”

“What’s the catch?” Oikawa jerked his head upwards as a sign of intimidation and crossed his arms because gods never do humans favors on a whim just like that unless they need something from them or if they actually do favor the individual, but it's been known to Oikawa that he’s never any of the gods’ favorite.

The wind god sighed and another gust of wind ruffled Oikawa’s hair, then he muttered, “It’s my brother’s usual _boy_ problem. We’re dropping by at your place tomorrow, so if you don’t want another flood in your _sake_ shop, build a VIP room by now.”

Oikawa took a deep breath to stall time and tell the god that he’s not the one in charge of the decision makings for their base, but then just like the wind, Fujin said a quick _gotta go_ and blew past him to go to _god knows where_.

Out of frustration, Oikawa sighed heavily.

He wondered if Futakuchi would be more pliant during a conversation over dango.

—

Futakuchi easily agreed after he laid out the proposal and Oikawa suspectedly stared at the dango if it had an ingredient that stimulates niceness, but then Futakuchi had to say that he’d enjoy watching the amusing spectacle of Oikawa getting bossed around by a god in an absurd, leopard print.

Oikawa _really_ is a slave. He’s at the _very_ bottom of the food chain.

Due to that, Oikawa left Futakuchi alone after one measly stick of dango and walked off to a park he used to frequent back when he was still in rehab. It was a circular park with silver birch trees surrounding it, encasing it in a refreshingly white environment due to the high reflectivity of the trees’ trunks. As Oikawa stepped inside the circle, the familiar sight of _bonsai_ greeted him as if warmly welcoming him back home.

He used to take care of a white pine bonsai in this place because it was an option for the rehab project. They have curfew for when they can go out to this park and should always be accompanied by at least one supervisor to assure that none of them can make an escape, but this curricular activity was the only activity in all the rehab options that had never experienced one escape attempt. Maybe the trees they were involved with and the ones surrounding them actually were working. Silver birch, juniper, and white pines were believed to have healing properties, and being there at that moment made it truly feel like Oikawa just had a taste of new, crisp, and fresh air.

After walking through a nostalgic path of stone steps, something he saw surprised him, and it was the fact that another half of an akki slaying team was hanging out in the park.

He was going to greet the dark haired man cheerfully with a slap on the back as they were close friends, but Oikawa dropped his hand back down when he realized something was bothering the other.

He was wearing his usual ragged but well put together clothes of [all black](https://www.pinterest.ph/pin/16607092362715734/) with a neckerchief around his neck, tucked inside his shirt as a hint [of red](https://www.hypeandstyle.fr/wp-content/uploads/2018/03/IMG_7885.jpg) , resting his unsheathed _[naginata](https://deadliestwarrior.fandom.com/wiki/Naginata) _ against his shoulder.

He was seated in front of a juniper tree bonsai with its needles colored brown and looking brittle. 

It was a dying tree, Oikawa concluded, but not yet wilted enough to be insalvable.

Oikawa silently sat on the adjacent seat and greeted his friend, “Hey, Kuroo.”

Kuroo moved his head to take a glance of him, then he bowed his head back down as he spoke, “Oh, it’s you.” He gestured at the plant, “I’m dropping this off and hoping someone would tend to it.”

Confused, Oikawa asked with a careful voice, “What about Yaku-kun? Is that not his?”

Yaku, Kuroo’s reputable partner in slaying akki and romantically, was a bonsai enthusiast.

When Oikawa got out of Mugen Jigoku and had fallen into bonsai as his rehabilitating activity for a while, he met Kuroo, who then introduced Yaku, his present partner at the moment. Yaku was a soul that Kuroo scouted as his new partner for slaying akki after his previous partner had been given the chance to finally reincarnate. Kuroo found Yaku in this same exact place since he used to cultivate bonsai during his recuperation in Anoyo.

By association, Yaku became Oikawa’s friend as well and he learned a lot about bonsai from him. Kuroo told him that Yaku kept his bonsai hobby even in the human realm, which was why it was bemusing that there’s an almost dead bonsai in their care and _why_ Yaku wouldn’t or couldn’t take responsibility for it.

They’re one of the regular akki slaying teams—sinners who got their memories of the past erased, designated to be deployed to simply kill an akki and get rid of its existence. Oikawa pondered if there were too many akki this season that Yaku didn’t have the time to manage a bonsai tree?

“Oikawa.” Kuroo said, serious and sentimental at the same time, “I’ve been slaughtering akki for almost a millennia. I can do it even while I’m half asleep.”

He didn’t know where Kuroo was going with this, but he stayed silent and just lent Kuroo his ear. It sounded like he needed this talk a lot more than it seemed.

Kuroo took a deep breath, “I’ve been with Yakkun for almost almost three centuries. We even planned on waiting for him to be permitted for reincarnation so we could do it together.”

Kuroo closed his eyes and Oikawa watched as he released a shuddering breath, “They told me I should be the one to kill him and they’d grant me an immediate reincarnation.”

Oikawa’s eyes tightened, his eyebrows knotting towards each other as he asked, “What do you—”

Then his voice faded as everything clicked in place.

 _Ah_.

Kuroo seemed to get it as he smiled, “Oh, no one’s told you yet?” He chuckled, “Thanks for handling Nametsu Mai’s case for us.”

“So you mean…” Oikawa trailed off, unsure of how to approach the topic.

“Yeah. He gained back his memories last month and got turned during a full moon when we were fighting a high rated akki.” Kuroo supplied, fast, short and quite vague.

“Can I offer you some help?” Oikawa asked when he found nothing else to say, but Kuroo shook his head no with another sad smile.

“I’m already training under old Ukai- _sensei_ to improve my offense. Nekomata- _sensei_ taught us defense too well, and as you already know, Morisuke’s the epitome of defending. We’ve clashed once in the past month and boy, did I get _wrecked_.” Kuroo laughed, but Oikawa saw his grip around his weapon tighten, his knuckles whitening.

“Anyway, you’re going to get briefed by Yamaguchi for this. They told me I needed a babysitter.” Kuroo shrugged, then he smirked at Oikawa, “A nanny that would make sure that the akki’s dead, and that the slayer stays clean.”

Oikawa felt uncomfortable receiving Kuroo’s smile because _why_ , of all other slayers, was Oikawa tasked with this? Kuroo was one of the friends he was able to make after going through hell, and now he’s assigned to oversee his mission to assure that he would kill his beloved, and kill him as well if he turns into an akki himself?

Oikawa’s mouth was open but he couldn’t speak, and Kuroo saved him from saying something stupid as he chuckled once again, deep and sorrowful, “Don’t worry, Oikawa. I can’t let you take responsibility for something like that. You’ve already experienced too much of that in your past life.”

Closing his mouth, he swallowed his saliva and just nodded.

He couldn’t comfort Kuroo.

As much as he wanted to, Oikawa just couldn’t.

It was enough that they both know how the past could just be too cruel.

—

Kuroo said goodbye with a hug, and Oikawa patted his back as a silent comfort because words could not do both of them any kind of service at that moment. Iwaizumi found him after that with a face that said business and Oikawa instantly knew that he was summoned for the briefing with Yamaguchi.

The meeting was quick. One of the higher ups was present and it irked Oikawa that Yaku’s case was being treated as if they weren’t people who faithfully served them to maintain all the realms’ balance before.

Yamaguchi was the couple’s partner field shinigami, and his significant other, Yachi, was their office shinagami.

There was a hint of anger in Yachi’s posture when Oikawa looked across the table to check on her. Yamaguchi had some kind of passive aggressiveness in his tone of voice as well while he presented. Even Iwaizumi was biting his lip in contempt as he listened.

Oikawa balled his fists and released a long exhale.

They’re all on edge.

—

After the meeting, Iwaizumi let Oikawa go off on his own and searched for Futakuchi to make sure the guy isn’t wreaking havoc in the afterlife by pissing off its residents.

Oikawa caught Yachi and Yamaguchi walking out of the building as well so he approached them. Yachi saw him which he followed with a polite bow, “Hello, Oikawa-san. It’s been a while.”

“It has been.” Oikawa answered as he bowed back.

“Well, I have to go. You know how hellish it could be in the office of, literally, _hell_.” Yachi said with a smile that obviously looked forced. She dropped it as she blinked, her eyes tight with unspoken emotions Oikawa was able to understand as she said, “See you around, Oikawa-san.”

Oikawa nodded as she turned away, and then he looked straight at Yamaguchi, to which the younger responded with a small smile as he asked, “ _Sake_?”

Huffing a laugh, Oikawa rolled his eyes because _yeah_ , that’s pretty appropriate.

“Alright.”

—

For a while once they teleported back to the human realm and started drinking at _Sake_ No Tame Ni, they just stayed silent, using each other’s company as a reminder that they’re not the only ones grieving about this situation.

“A lot of us are scared right now.” Yamaguchi said to break the silence, and without a deeper explanation, Oikawa understood.

It’s rare for afterlife workers to regain their memories. It could happen once in a millennia, but they’ve just had a case of this a year ago before Oikawa departed from Anoyo to be Futakuchi’s water boy.

Yamaguchi didn’t include him in the ‘a lot of us’ part because he still has his memories of his past even though most of those were spent falling into an endless pit of wild flames which ended up fucking up his memories. Oikawa may not seem like he’s concerned with this particular scare, but he is.

He’s probably the most terrified ghost in Japan of this phenomenon.

Yamaguchi took a familiar deep breath and Oikawa knew a long monologue was coming.

“We all know we did something immoral or terrible in our past lives and that something got us sent to a part of hell, then we aimed to survive our trials for repentance. Our memories are taken away after that so we can live with ourselves and forget the wickedness of it all, but now we’re serving that same hell we’ve been put through almost without rest.” Yamaguchi ranted and only stopped when his voice caught on his throat. He cleared it with a short grunting cough and downed a shot of _sake_.

“I’ve always told Hitoka-chan that the past doesn’t matter anymore.” Yamaguchi said and looked at Oikawa. He met his gaze to give him the wordless comfort he asked for, and Oikawa saw two eyes hazy with anxiety as he added, “I told her that what matters is that we exist right now, right at this moment. What we should work with is what we _do_ know and not what we do _not_.”

Yamaguchi licked his lips and looked away, his freckled cheeks tinted with a blush from the alcohol as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, “Told her it’s the present that matters. That it’s the present we should make most out of.”

Oikawa thinks he knew where Yamaguchi was going with this. This kind of insecurity, this kind of fear, this kind of situation—it gets amplified even further when it’s about strong individuals that have made the present _theirs_.

Kuroo and Yaku never looked back on whatever happened in their past. They found each other at some point in the afterlife, and they decided to start again at that point _together_ , hand in hand, for all of eternity if they were given the chance.

Yaku himself was a resilient individual, and just _knowing_ that a soul as tough as him had succumbed to his tragic past triggered by an akki’s impurity after hundreds of years long service would surely spread trepidation among souls like them.

“The past shouldn’t matter anymore.” Yamaguchi muttered to himself, his eyes still closed as he slowly gave up his sobriety, “It _shouldn’t_ matter this much.”

Oikawa itched for a smoke, but he smiled as he took a shot, knowing the next words Yamaguchi was about to say.

“But why does it?”

—

_Oikawa was on top of him, his legs straddling his hips, his heart beating the fastest it could be as if he was on his horse, running away from the law._

_He’s done this tons of times; he had grown used to it even, but something about doing it with_ him _made his hands stiff with cold sweat and his breathing irregular just from the stare_ he _was receiving from him._

 _There was suddenly a look of concern on his face when he spoke, “Tooru_ —”

_“Shh, shh, shh.” Oikawa immediately shushed and placed a slender finger against the other’s lips, “I’m going.”_

_Oikawa caressed his dark brown hair and cupped his cheek as he provoked him with a grin, “Don’t back out on me.”_

_“I’m not.” He said, a bit too quickly which made Oikawa snicker, playing with the tips of his hair, then he cleared his throat as he added, “I just wanted to say you look beautiful.”_

_Oikawa paused in twirling his short hair around his finger and foolishly stared at his hand. He swallowed down the overflow of butterflies begging to fly out of his mouth before he gained back his composure and scoffed their wings._

_“Shut up.” Oikawa said without the bite he wanted to have in it._

_Stubbornly, he answered, “I don’t want to. How could I when you’re so handsome?”_

_Oikawa rolled his eyes and attempted to hide the fact that he liked receiving compliments from him, then he sharply said, “_ Fine _.” Then softening his voice he asked, “Tell me more then.”_

 _The other opened his mouth again to say something, and just for a tease, Oikawa aligned himself on his shaft and brought his hips down just enough to hook himself, cutting his trail of thoughts and choking on the word, “You’re_ —”

_Oikawa raised a brow and strictly commanded, “Talk.”_

_The man beneath him released a slow, heavy and long exhale while Oikawa slowly and painfully slid down his manhood, but he obeyed as he continued his sentence, “_ — _very desirable.”_

 _Oikawa almost laughed and boasted by saying ‘I know_ ’ _._

_“You’re an amazing person.” Oikawa heard as he was halfway down, feeling his thickness fill his insides more and more._

_“I like how your cheeks are dusted pink at this moment.” He said, and Oikawa suppressed a laugh as he continued his descent, closing his eyes to feel all of him even better._

_“Your lips_ — _” He said, and there was an odd pause that followed so Oikawa opened one eye to take a peek, and he saw his brows in a knot as if frustrated._

_Oikawa was about to ask about it but he heard him say, “I want to kiss you.”_

_And he said it like a child wanting_ nothing more _but that._

_Oikawa suddenly lost control of his legs and bottomed out; the head hitting a sweet spot which made Oikawa giggle as he moaned with his eyes closed, tilting his head slightly sideways. He then opened them again to look down on the other with a smirk and said, “Later. I’m still adapting to your length and girth.”_

_He expected the other to jest along with him, but he looked so serious and deprived. He eyed Oikawa with such an intense stare as if it could change the birthmarks and scars on Oikawa to turn it into his marks, branding Oikawa to be his and only his. It made the pumping of Oikawa’s heart against his ribs a lot more pronounced, spreading stinging electricity all over his naked skin._

_He took Oikawa’s hand that was resting on top of his stomach and held it in his warm hands, taking away the coldness of his fingers, melting away all of his worries, removing everything else inconsequential inside his mind and leaving just the two of them._

_Then he said with a deep, resonating voice._

_“I want you.”_

_Their gazes locked on each other and Oikawa could hear his heartbeat in his ears, but it was so, so clear when he said it once again_ — _lovingly, caringly, adoringly, worshipfully._

_“I want you, Tooru.”_

_It was the sweetest and most careful way his name was ever spoken, and Oikawa would beg for forgiveness with his life existence and whole being just to hear him say his name like that once again._

“Oi.”

Oikawa stirred from his sleep, and he quickly raised his arms up to shield himself from the bright sunlight coming in through the window, shutting his eyes even tighter. The sunlight was an enemy; it was chasing away his precious memory that came back through a dream.

He hasn’t _ridden_ it out.

But then Futakuchi called his name, _rudely_.

“Oikawa- _san_.”

It caused Oikawa to become wide _fucking_ awake.

“Goddamnit.” He said grouchily with hostility as he briskly uncovered himself from his blanket and sat up on his bed to glare at Futakuchi.

He was met with an amused expression, because _clearly_ , Futakuchi _thrives_ on seeing him _suffer_.

“Good morning. It’s 7am and your favorite god is in the house together with his brother.” Futakuchi announced with cheerness in his tone.

When Oikawa didn’t move at all from where he sat and seemed to be falling back to sleep, Futakuchi toughened up his voice and authoritatively spoke, “Chop chop, Oikawa- _san_ . Matsukawa said his brother _Raijin_ has a huge thunderstorm scheduled at 11am. He brought him here to _unwind_ so the storm would be tamed even just a bit.”

 _Ah, yes_ . Reported thunderstorms that only ended up as a windy downpour? Some of it was because the thunder god who likes to use his human form _way too much_ was hiccupping from all the booze he drank and couldn’t beat on his drums as aggressively as he could.

“Why aren’t you moving your ass—”

Oikawa exposed himself and threw his blanket towards his feet, then he told Futakuchi, “I have some business to attend to.” Futakuchi stared at his bulge, “And if you’re not volunteering to stay and offer me your service…”

Futakuchi looked like he was _actually_ thinking of it, and Oikawa sighed, “...get the fuck out then.”

Oikawa stood up and headed for the shower, expecting Futakuchi to leave him alone but instead the _jerk_ was still in his room.

“What if I _do_ volun—”

Oikawa closed his eyes and turned the other way to show he’s not interested in his existence, waving Futakuchi out of his room, “No, thank you, Futakuchi-kun. My dream was good, you’ll just ruin the moment and the experience.”

He got in the bathroom and closed the door on Futakuchi’s face who was still asking, “Oh? A memory or just a wet dream? And who were you with?”

Oikawa groaned as he undressed himself.

It was morning. He was horny. He was lsad. He was onely. He’s a _godforsaken_ homosexual.

“It was someone who loved me!” He shouted in intense frustration just so Futakuchi would leave him alone, “Now, _get out_!”

After a second, Oikawa realized what he had just said and felt himself regretting that decision immediately. Moreso when there was a growing silence on the other side of the door.

 _God_. Now, Futakuchi knows too much.

“Somebody loved you?” Futakuchi wondered out loud mockingly, “With that same personality or did you drastically change yourself after going through hell?”

Oikawa was _tired_ of the banter and was in a _desperate_ need of a release.

He sighed for the nth time that hour and shouted with all his might.

“ _Get out_!”

—

It was some minutes after 11 in the morning with just one table filled in the _sake_ shop when the annoying, windy god wrapped in leopard print came crawling out of the newly built VIP room along with his very wasted brother in human form wearing a bright yellow and comfortable hoodie with the letters EJP on the front.

Oikawa learned that Washio, Raijin’s chosen human name, was a professional volleyball player in the V. League division 1 for this generation, all because he wants to beat a human named Bokuto Kotaro.

It’s not about anything important, really, it’s just that Washio had a relationship with a human named Konoha Akinori a millennia ago, but once this Konoha guy got reincarnated, Konoha didn’t recognize him like he expected him to.

Konoha had gone through three new lifetimes by now including his current one and Washio has spent all this time exposing himself to Konoha’s life but he has not been successful yet.

Now, this Bokuto guy was Konoha’s significant other whom he loved so much from his past lifetime that he became a fan of Bokuto’s team, MSBY Black Jackals, in this lifetime, so Washio would like to destroy the guy on the court where he shines the most _and_ make Konoha witness it.

Whoever that Bokuto guy is though, Oikawa picks his side because _fuck_ the gods.

Though on second thought, it would probably help Oikawa and a lot of communities if Raijin made it rain less because he’s happy and in love in the arms of a human.

“Thank you for your service, you two.” Matsukawa slurred as they floated on a cloud in front of the counter, his eyelids even lower on his eyeballs than usual, “We’re off to make that storm now.”

The two of them made a polite bow as the gods flew out of the shop because an offended wind god is actually just as tough as a moody thunder god. They don’t want to experience their wraths. One time Washio was totally heartbroken, he accidentally flooded the whole shop along with its customers. They don’t want that to be made on purpose.

“Finally.” Oikawa breathed as he stretched his arms up his head and curved his spine backwards.

“We let humanity’s fate be in the hands of those kinds of entities?” Futakuchi huffed in both a sick kind of amusement and genuine distaste. A millennia of observing the deities so closely is not that fun, so it seems.

Their customer grim reaper and his newly reaped soul also stood up to leave while they exchanged pleasantries with the two of them.

Oikawa sighed as they walked out. He then looked at his phone to check if he had any messages from Kuroo or Yamaguchi, but there were none so he noticed the time instead.

“Oh, it’s 11:11.” Oikawa stated, then he playfully looked at Futakuchi expectantly, “Make a wish.”

Futakuchi scrunched up his face like he was repulsed, “What kind of nonsense is that?”

“It’s a thing I heard from the ghosts before.” Oikawa rolled his eyes and settled down on a seat to cross his legs.

“Why do they make a wish because of numbers?” Futakuchi asked out loud, and Oikawa thought it looked cute that he was really just sincerely wondering why.

Oikawa raised his shoulders and stuck his lower lip out, “I don’t know, maybe because it looks like birthday candles?”

“Sounds stupid.” Futakuchi commented with a smile which actually made it look as if he liked that reasoning instead of an actual explanation.

“It wouldn’t hurt anyone if you made a wish on 11:11.” Oikawa tried to convince him, but Futakuchi shook his head and chuckled.

He looked at Oikawa again, then he softly said, “Nah. Maybe in a different universe, I will.”

They were suddenly distracted by the ringing of a bell. They both looked at the entrance to greet their customer but it wasn’t a customer.

It was Kuroo.

“Hey, Oiks.” Kuroo grinned, “I knew you wouldn’t come to me so I went to you instead.”

Futakuchi looked at Oikawa as if asking for answers, “What does he—”

The pause in Futakuchi’s sentence and the expression on his face changed into one that implied something Oikawa didn’t like, so even before Futakuchi mouthed some kind of perverted bullshit, he splashed water taken from Takamagahara onto his face.

Oikawa ignored the coughs he caused and regarded Kuroo, “Hey, it’s just protocol. I don’t actually have to supervise you—”

“No.” Kuroo stopped him, his voice demanding, “I’d rather you do.”

Oikawa took a deep breath first before he nodded in agreement, “Alright. I’m here when you need me.”

“Uhm, what’s going on?” Futakuchi sarcastically said in a clueless tone as if he was sulking he’d been put out of the loop.

Kuroo smirked and talked in a chaff manner, “The mission is confidential but I can invite you if you want to.”

Oikawa joined the ruse and laced his words with a suggesting tone, “Futakuchi-kun, [you coming?”](https://hqscans.tumblr.com/post/171095211162/official-twitter-october-6-2017)

Futakuchi may be a millennial old dead soul, but he also has the youngest body among them three and he looked adorable when he forced a smile because of the strange and purposefully awkward situation as he politely refused, “Nah. I’m alright. Thanks.”

Kuroo and Oikawa looked at each other disappointedly but they both had a pesky smile on each of their lips.

After that short lived fun and teasing, the atmosphere in the _sake_ shop fell heavily like there was a physical knife that stabbed through the air. Futakuchi is a sensitive guy, and by the look on his face, he instantly felt it shift.

Oikawa felt him look how way but he avoided his gaze because it was not his place to tell the story, so Futakuchi faced Kuroo and waited for the man to speak.

It was just quiet as the three of them waited, then Kuroo was the first to give in to the loudness of the silence as he broke it up with a long sigh.

Then he announced.

“I’m killing Morisuke today.”

—

When Kuroo finished telling the story to Futakuchi, they still invited him to come with them but he refused and said it was to give Kuroo the privacy he needed. Having one babysitter was enough insult already.

“You didn’t have to drop a bomb like that on us.” Oikawa said after a while, his tone a mixture of fake sulking, joking and dolefulness. He wanted to distract Kuroo with a conversation from all the gloominess hanging above both of their heads but he couldn’t think of something to talk about without it being absurd.

“It’s faster. Less explaining to do.” Kuroo said, his voice still light in its pseudo optimism.

“So are you reincarnating right after this mission?” Oikawa asked, kicking a pebble that was on the road like a main character in a book, but to him it was to lessen the tension he felt in the fibers of his muscles.

“I don’t care if I get reincarnated.” Kuroo shrugged, and Oikawa whipped his head up to look at him unbelievingly.

“Then why are you doing it?” Oikawa asked, because the higher ups did not make it a dogma for him to kill Yaku. It was just an offer if he wanted an immediate chance of reincarnation.

Kuroo snickered to himself as Oikawa eyed him with a bewildered gaze, then he looked ahead of him as if looking for something he lost, carried away by the wind as he said, “Because I love him.”

Oikawa couldn’t find an appropriate response to that, and maybe it was because he couldn’t understand or couldn’t bring himself to.

Kuroo shrugged away the tense atmosphere Oikawa brought upon the two of them and spoke, “By the way, you don’t have to watch us directly. You can just stay in the vicinity and when you sense my blood turning into something else, that’s when you head over.”

Kuroo said it as a suggestion but in truth, it was a command, and Oikawa agreed to it. The briefing did say that it should be Oikawa’s demands that must be met by Kuroo, but when did Oikawa ever make those guys above rule over him? This is Kuroo’s mission, and he should be the one to decide what actions they should make.

“Oikawa-kun.” Kuroo said, his tone requiring Oikawa to look into his eyes. Kuroo gave him a small smile as he met his gaze like he was asking for a favor, then he said, “Promise me you won’t step in unless I’ve won, died, or turned into an akki.”

Oikawa blinked at him and reran what was said inside his head. He couldn’t give his word to Kuroo that he won’t, so he just huffed through his nose and said, “Better make sure you win then.”

—

They finally arrived at the location where Yaku was reported to be staying. It was an abandoned football stadium judging from how the facade looked aged and unkempt.

They both felt a presence inside and it was undoubtedly the strong aura of an akki. Without a word, Kuroo and Oikawa looked at each other as a goodbye, and a good luck before Kuroo walked through the entrance and left Oikawa outside the walls.

Oikawa did his job and did what he was told to do. He followed the movement of the water content in Kuroo’s body to monitor his general status and location. He then walked to a safer place to standby with his eyes closed in order to heighten his senses of Kuroo and the akki’s presence.

Five minutes after they parted ways since Kuroo scouted the place by wandering around, the water in his body stopped in its tracks unnaturally along with Oikawa picking up on a denser aura of an akki.

 _They’ve met_.

Oikawa held his breath as he waited for both of the entities he was sensing held their ground.

 _Kuroo may be trying to communicate_.

Kuroo wouldn’t be able to help it. The akki in front of him was once his beloved; someone he woke up to in the morning and went to sleep with for almost 300 years. Of course Kuroo would try to talk some sense to Yaku even though he could never be turned back. He would try to reach his hands towards him blindly through the dark, terrifying void that consumed his soul.

The heaviness of the dark atmosphere in the air lessened a bit and Oikawa stopped feeling like something was watching him, just waiting for the perfect time to take a bite and poison him.

 _Kuroo may have been successful in calming the akki, but it could never be turned back to who it was_.

Oikawa then sensed that Kuroo had started to move forward towards the other being inside the stadium. He took slow and careful steps, approaching the akki. They were only apart for a distance of only two meters when all of a sudden, there was a howling sound that ruptured through the dead silence and stillness of the surroundings.

It sounded like it was in pain—a considerable amount of it and its cries were brought out into the ether, its shrieks of all the tormenting anguish he went through was being communicated through the wind, seemingly begging for someone to hear.

 _Save me_. It seemed to pray.

 _Kill me_. He seemed to say.

Oikawa grit his teeth and shut his eyes even tighter.

The akki’s presence was expanding to its environment once again, corrupting and defiling everything within its reach. 

Oikawa’s senses were dulling at the panic he’s letting himself be drowned in, but Oikawa still was aware that there was contact and an exchange of blows. Oikawa could hear the blade of Kuroo’s naginata clashing against Yaku’s known peculiar sword, _[nagamaki](https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-suCOOUS3GQ4/W5uzDwv6pfI/AAAAAAAAA8g/TX7Jgl1_Ikk8kNv0v8VOG5qelkuys1l-QCLcBGAs/s1600/nagamaki%2Bdisegni2.jpg) _.

As the collision of blades went on, the ground around the stadium had also begun to shake. The dogs near the area had been stimulated by the threatening air to bark and howl along with the akki. There were sounds of crashing and impact with the cemented floor, but what bothered Oikawa the most was the gush of liquid he can sense on Kuroo’s left arm.

 _Blood_.

The bleeding was flowing quite profusely as the wound was cut through of at least an inch deep on the lateral part of Kuroo’s upper arm.

Oikawa thought of going inside and aiding his friend, but even before he could take a step, there was a brisk moment that simply snapped the surroundings back to being peaceful.

It was just a quick, fleeting moment. It was done in a blink of an eye.

The dogs stopped barking. The air was back to being refreshing and clean. The sounds of blade against blade had fully died out.

Slowly opening his eyes, Oikawa fixated on nothing in particular as he felt the akki presence he was keeping watch of earlier turn back into a mortal’s body—one that was being consumed by the fire delivered by a slayer’s weapon bit by bit.

Oikawa gathered the courage to transport himself at the top of the stadium’s walls, and as he looked down right at the center all the mess and chaos, he saw Kuroo clutching Yaku in his arms, his naginata’s blade still struck through Yaku’s chest, watching as the flames of hell eat away at his human form, never to return to any of the realms again. They appeared to be talking in a whisper.

He teleported to Kuroo’s side and the quiet ache which started to envelop the two was stifling. He took careful steps to stand by Kuroo and put a hand on Kuroo’s shoulder as an attempt at comfort before he placed a glass bottle of water with healing components beside him for his arm.

Oikawa saw Yaku completely vanish, his soul’s particles drifting away together with the wind to disintegrate even further, and even before Kuroo opened his mouth to bellow in grief, Oikawa quickly transported back to base to give him his personal time to mourn.

Oikawa dropped to his knees as soon as he materialized at the center ground where Futakuchi’s sculpted fountain greeted him home.

He inhaled through his mouth, but it was cut short with a feeling resembling a hiccup and so he tried to breathe again, but all his breaths were shallow. Gradually, Oikawa’s shoulders began to tense up and curl forwards into himself. His gasps of breath grew louder and shorter as if the oxygen in the air was insufficient, but he knew that the truth was that he’s losing carbon dioxide due to hyperventilation.

Oikawa managed to groan in frustration as tears welled up in his eyes and absolutely blurred his vision. He hastily and frantically blinked them away as his hands fell onto the ground before him in an effort to stabilize himself, but the tears wouldn’t stop.

He somehow accomplished cursing out loud to let out his resentment of his human-like body. Why does it act human? Why does it hurt so much inside his chest and yet numb at the same time as if it was being hollowed out? Why does it grieve like this? Why does it react to fear like some weakling?

Next thing he knew, someone was straightening his back and pulling him up to his feet, making him lean his weight onto them.

No one else but Futakuchi could be the one to save him right now, and his hands tightened onto Futakuchi’s clothes involuntarily as if he was begging for him not to leave him alone.

Futakuchi was talking to him but he ignored it all. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t see, he couldn’t control his whole body. His best option was to just dive into Futakuchi’s warmth and surrender his consciousness.

—

When Oikawa woke up, he was tucked to bed warmly and comfortingly. Oikawa could feel that his eyes were quite puffy and that his nose was still swollen, but his bed was warmer than usual which made it feel like he was being hugged or maybe back inside his mother’s womb.

 _Futakuchi must have roasted me while I was sleeping_. And he meant that literally.

Oikawa felt thirsty from all the sobbing he did so he scanned the room and saw a glass of water on top of his bedside table. The water reflected a lot more light than normal water so Oikawa assumed it was with healing properties.

Sitting up properly, he reached for the glass and drank, sarcastically wishing that it can also heal the brokenness of his whole life and not just the numbing sting around his face.

There was a knock on his door, and then it slid open to reveal Kuroo on the other side of it. He stayed there on the doorframe while leaning on the wall.

They eyed each other with puffed up lids and red noses. They even synchronously sniffed their snots away. They would have found that bit comedic if they just had a different reason as to why they were crying.

Kuroo moved his arm and Oikawa realized that the blotch of red stain was a mix of dried and fresh blood and that the wound was still as open as it was hours ago.

“Wait.” Oikawa murmured, squinting accusingly at Kuroo, “Your wound isn’t healing well.”

Kuroo had the audacity to shrug and state his defense, “I can’t die from it but I can barely stand right now.”

“Didn’t I give you healing water for first aid—”

“I drank all of it.”

“I thought you were intelligent enough to at least spare some to be poured—”

“What was I supposed to do? I felt like I was dying because of dehydration.” Kuroo again cut him off to reason out as he pouted and crossed his arms, “I hate having this human-like body, seriously.”

Oikawa pursed his lips and stopped nagging as he nodded, “Yeah, me too.”

With a sigh, Oikawa extracted water from Takamagahara, Oikawa clasped it onto Kuroo’s open wound to stop its bleeding first and to kickstart its healing, “Shouldn’t you have gone to Suga for this?”

“There’s not a lot of booze for leisure there.” Kuroo said with a small smile and Oikawa mirrored it back though it made both of them look pathetic.

Kuroo deserved to get drunk for the night. It’s the least he could do to forget a lot of things for the moment. It’s the only thing he could do to try to run away from the pain for a while because he must be feeling way too much of it right now.

“Okay.” Oikawa said, leaving his warm cocoon of sheets and blanket to stand with Kuroo, “Let’s go to the shop.”

Oikawa slid his door close in synchronicity with the door of the room in front of his sliding open.

He turned around to look and saw Futakuchi with a politely concealed expression of concern as to not overstep anything with his worry.

Kuroo greeted him with a small _hey_ , and he responded back by saying it and bowing a little.

“You coming?” Oikawa asked him again, and this time, Futakuchi unhesitatingly said yes.

They didn’t stop drinking until Kuroo was totally drunk, close to blacking out. They couldn’t stop him from drowning his troubles with _sake_.

When Kuroo finally closed his eyes and automatically went into a deep slumber, the two of them carried him to their guest room and let him rest there for as long as he needed.

—

_“Kill him.” The leader ordered Oikawa, handing him his own katana and forcing it into Oikawa’s grasp._

_“Tooru.” He called, a peremptory tone in his voice like a warning, binding him to do his bidding as he once again said, “Kill him.”_

_Oikawa took a shuddering breath as he tightened his clutch on the katana’s handle, and carried its weight all by himself._

_It felt heavier than it should be in Oikawa’s grip as it also bore the mass of all the lives that was taken by it and the fresh blood it was about to taste._

_He took a hesitant step towards the man he was ordained to kill, but he took a more resolute step as he took the next one._

_He strode confidently to stand before the man_ — _a man of power, a man symbolizing strength, a man captaining the legion spreading hope for others._

_The man kneeling before him, stripped of his mighty armor and left with his pristine white linen kimono was Ushijima Wakatoshi._

_Ushijima raised his eyes from the ground to look up at Oikawa, and his eyes did not show much of his emotions as it locked its focus with Oikawa’s. He blinked softly as he said in a low voice, “Do you believe in what you’re fighting for?”_

_Oikawa held his breath and clenched his jaw, glaring down at him._

_He could not show conscience or regret. He could not show hesitance or second thoughts. He_ needed _to do this. He_ has _to kill him._

_He then took a quick decisive breath, and he held the next one as he swung his katana from the back and onto the back of Ushijima’s neck, cleanly slicing through the flesh in a swift motion._

_Ushijima’s head made a thud against the cement and near Oikawa’s feet, its face up and facing the sky, his vacant, olive colored eyes still open and staring back directly at Oikawa’s._

“Oikawa-san—”

Oikawa bolted right up with his eyes wide open. The sky outside his window was dim and gloomy, accompanied by the pitter patter of water droplets against the shingles on the roof.

It wasn’t rain.

It was Oikawa.

“You okay? It’s falling _really_ bad—”

“I’m sorry.” Oikawa stated, his fixation unsteady and his eyes wobbly, his face blank and pale.

Futakuchi looked dumbfounded as to why Oikawa apologized so sincerely, then he slowly said, “It’s not like I’m mad. I’m worried.”

“I’m sorry.” Oikawa repeated, still feeling the weight of _his_ katana in his hands as he stared back into Ushijima’s dead and hollow eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not as long as the second chapter. thank god, i guess. i still have to edit some more bits but i finished this on feb 17 so i wrote this in a span of seven days. that’s another achievement for me.
> 
> the washikono in this was just a cameo bc i have this short au planned for them in a different universe and i wanted this to be like a nod to that but i worked on this first even though that idea came to me before this HAHA but anyway, their appearance to this does Not Have any connection to my original wskn fic idea (or is there? idk). anyway, their relationship here was meant to be used as comic relief. and then matsukawa, the wind god, cant remember how i arrived at that but i think i searched up wind god once and saw he wears leopard skin and thought it would be funny to have a god in a leopard print set of suit and pants just like a pimp. thought matsukawa would fit the role so i threw him in and made washikawa as raijin & fujin brothers.
> 
> also, i researched why 11:11 was a trend bc it’s been a trend i’ve followed for a decade or more bc i like the number 11 so my fave time of the day is 11:11 coincidentally w the trend but anyway, it’s the only time of the day w all 4 digits of time are the same so yeah. i also originally didn’t know why it was considered as spiritual or whatever while writing this HAHA.
> 
> i also included a Lot of the ships i intended to use in different chapters but they all seemed to fit in one HAHA. yamayachi originally had no connection whatsoever w kuroyaku but whatever happens while writing, right?
> 
> alright as of 3:45pm of feb 17, next chapter might be the last chapter. :’D hope you’re still with me. :DDD


	4. unforgotten pasts.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the masks and the blindfolds would finally be discarded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im thinking of making this the last chapter—oop.
> 
> might not be that long but who knows? i don’t really have a plan for this, i just know how i’ll end it, idk how to bring it to that ending, so psa: i’m winging it on this one. this would NOT be historically/politically accurate. :DD (23/02/21 update, 2.5k words in?: The Author Is Confused. 25/02/21 update: i deleted all the scenes that made me confused)
> 
> i have an OC and i didn’t plan what he looked like honestly but i typed slicked back jet black hair and then kambe daisuke from balance unlimited popped up inside my brain so :DDD HAHA.
> 
> (~~~) means flashbacks. and also in this chapter did i regret not using first names for the narration. :DD sorry if it becomes confusing but i was going to Stubbornly stick w using their last names even if it meant throwing away the Concept I Had while writing this chapter but in the end i used their first names for flashbacks. :’))) pls bear with me, i Apologize in Advance.
> 
> started writing this on 17 feb 2021, which is also kinda the start of my thesis and second sem as a fifth year so i hope i get to finish this fic before i actually write for my thesis. (edit: march 6, i got hospitalized and then i quit school after. lmao.)
> 
> trigger warnings: mentioned child prositution, blood & violence, _unsexy_ sexy scenes i guess, and most importantly, this chapter is NOT edited.
> 
> quick trivia: “oi/kawa”/“及/川” means “reaching the/river”.

_He was asked again and again and about his beliefs and the choices he made, and yet in the end, the one decision that mattered the most, he managed to turn into his gravest sin._

~~~

He was an orphan.

He didn’t know how, but he just knew he was. He has no memories of his parents or family. He didn’t know his name, didn’t know his age, didn't know his birthday, didn’t know anything about himself at all. All he knew was that he was alone.

He exists, and he was all by himself. That was it.

His earliest and clearest memory of his childhood was leaning on a dirty wall of a crowded street in the Heian capital, barely able to hold himself upright using his malnutritioned limbs, staring at the street vendors and wondering which food he could steal the easiest.

It was like that every single day for him. He lived through stealing food and sleeping at the warmest ground of the neighborhood, but that particular day he could remember so well because he failed in stealing the bread he so desired.

He was caught by military men as soon as the vendor had shrieked to report him, then he was quickly sold to an aristocrat with an illegal, perverse business.

He was marked that day and its scar stayed with him forever; its physical presence on the skin of the lower left part of his abdomen serving him as a painful reminder that he has been branded.

It was a burn of helplessness, but instead it was eyed by the privileged as a sear of shame, of filth, of _sin_.

So many hands had caressed his skin and he hasn’t even gone through puberty yet.

Due to the job, he was always asked what his age and name was. He responded to that with a charmingly sugared smile, speaking sweetly as he tells them his age doesn’t matter and that he doesn’t have a name so they can call him whatever they want to.

Then one day, the brothel was raided by militants. It was absolute chaos filled with a loud volume of panicked screams, clashing swords, and dripping of blood.

He stayed stunned inside his room, looking out of the ajar door that his customer had fled out of in fright of being caught in an illegal business and being slain on the spot, shaming his precious family name.

He heard heavy footsteps of the hallway’s wooden floorboards growing closer and closer. He did not even bother fixing his garb to cover himself as the man slid the door fully open and entered his room, authoritative and dominating.

He looked up to see the face of the man he assumed would slaughter him. He was strikingly handsome with his slicked back jet black hair in a bun, clothed with a plain black kariginu made of luxurious twill silk, and it agonized him that his first thought was that this man should’ve been inside his room as a client instead of his murderer.

“Hey, kid.” The man who he deemed to be at least a decade older than he was called him as if he was just another brat in the neighborhood, his voice deep and mellow, sounding way too comforting for a man brandishing his blooded but exquisite and elegant _katana_ with a deeply curved, narrow blade ending in a _ko-gissaki_.

He batted his eyelashes, stroked the long strands of his hair away from his face, and showed his teeth beautifully—a cheap attempt at begging for his life.

“Hey, handsome.” He said, using the tone he implements with his dirty work to receive a greater amount of pay. It appeared to woo his patrons but the noirette’s coal eyes seemed to tighten at the remark. 

He sighed, dropping the lustful act a little and then lacing his voice with a bit of teasing as he spoke, “If you were a visitor, I would have offered for your first session to be as long as you want, but do me a favor and make this first and last one quick, will you?”

He winked, but the man’s stare at him for a brief moment made him hold his breath as he stared back at his inky irises. They felt like they bored onto his skin and grasped his neck. The man finally blinked and he was released from the shackles that silently prevented him from moving.

“My name’s Kambe _no_ Kagemori.” He stated, stepping inside the room further and closer, then he asked, “What’s yours?”

Facing someone with an infamous and influential name while he was a nameless nobody, his lashes fluttered shyly as he said the truth, “I wasn’t given one.”

“What do they call you then?” Kagemori asked, his brows knotting together accompanied by a curious tilt of his head.

He found it adorable but suppressed his smile as he answered, “Does _beautiful_ count?”

Kagemori laughed, softly and sincerely, which created an ache inside his chest because it would be such a waste to be slain by someone this pretty.

“You don’t need somebody else to be given a name.” Kagemori said as he squatted with his knees bent to speak at eye level with him.

Kagemori grinned, his lips curving upwards in an alluring manner as he proposed, “Why don’t you name yourself?”

And for the first time, he finally thought of giving himself his own name, and a simple suggestion such as that made him feel as if he was _fully_ in control of something for once.

He gawked at Kagemori, and still presuming that that conversation would be his last one, he was able to choose one immediately.

“ _Tooru_ .” He decided, meaning _to pass through_ . It was in hopes of getting out of that way of living, escape that hell, to go through those hardships and come out of it alive. It was a promise to himself that no matter what happens, he would do his best to survive. It seemed contradicting as he sat there helplessly in front of a _samurai_ , waiting for his death, but it gave him something to hold onto before the inevitable.

With vibrant eyes and a gleeful voice as he liked the way it sounded because it perfectly rolled off his tongue, he reiterated with a more decisive voice, “My name is Tooru.”

Kagemori smiled kindly back at him and patted the top of his head, his dark but absolutely beautiful black eyes regarded his existence softly.

“Tooru.” He called him, and he preened at the sound of his name on his lips, “A beautiful name.”

He felt warm. So warm, and _Tooru_ wondered how a light touch of a hand ruffling his hair was the one that made him the most giddy and hot.

“Well, then, Tooru...” Kagemori started, his eyes gleaming, “Would you like to get out of this place with me?”

~~~

Kagemori was his clan’s chief and he taught him a lot after he agreed to be taken in as his varlet, watching over him as his superior and master. He was taught martial arts and different weaponry skills which he picked up easily—both because the master was good at teaching and that the student was a quick learner.

The night after _hanami_ , a tradition of viewing the melancholic beauty of _sakura_ petals during the spring, the full moon’s brightness blanketed his and Kagemori’s naked bodies as they laid side by side near the open window. It was the latter half of the season and the weather has been clear and sunny, suited for good days to let the spring breeze accompany them.

He was laying his head on Kagemori’s chest, feeling the rhythmical rise and fall of it as he cuddled close to him, hearing the cadent beat of his heart. He was content and he was happy. Somebody was holding him against their body, sharing warmth and intimacy. He had never experienced this before and he loved every single bit of that kind of feeling.

“Tooru.” Kagemori called before he almost fell to the clutches of a deeper slumber, and he hummed to let the older know that he was listening.

“I have something for you.” Kagemori whispered against his hair softly, and he could hear a smile in his voice.

He opened his eyes and lifted himself off of Kagemori as the other moved to grab something from a wooden chest beside their canopy bed. Kagemori laid back down immediately after he acquired what it was and opened up his chest for him to fall back into his cradle.

Handing it to him, Kagemori caressed his arms and pulled him closer, “It’s a present.”

Tooru took it into his hands and carefully held it. He didn’t know how to react because this was the first gift he had received out of genuine love and not just a bribe for a better performance in swinging his hips.

It was a tantō that he was given; a simple looking one with a chaste but graceful looking wooden handle and scabbard. Oikawa slid his fingertips on its side, preciously stroking it, and as it reached the bottom of the handle, he saw an engraving that made his heart skip a beat.

**神戸**

_Kambe_. He read. It was the characters for Kambe etched deep into the wooden handle, easily distinguishable.

He dragged his eyes upwards and gaped at Kagemori with his pupils blown wide. He mouthed a syllable of something he wasn’t even sure what because he didn’t produce even a squeak of a sound.

Kagemori smiled at him widely, the shine in his eyes enchanting and reminding Tooru of all the wishes he meaninglessly whispered as he watched perished stars pierce through the heavens above, flickering futilely towards its absolute demise, burning bright to let everyone know of its existence before it completely disintegrates into thin air.

The look Kagemori gave him seemed like a promise; a promise that these vain hopes were not out of reach, that it won’t die out as easily as the dying stars across the sky.

“What do you think about having Kambe as your last name?” Kagemori said in a melodiously wanton manner as he surged forward towards Tooru, pinning him back down against the mattress, caged in his arms.

Tooru smiled, and it was the first time he felt this embarrassed of his lips curving upwards in happiness as he shyly answered, “I’m truly grateful.”

~~~

The Kambe clan was once a very powerful family that had full control over the imperial court for centuries by having successfully wedded into the family. Women of the clan had mothered a lot of former emperors, but the present emperor they couldn’t dominate and govern because he was the first to take the seat not birthed by a Kambe woman.

The emperor was determined to restore power and authority to his title and ruleship. He implemented reforms in order to curb the influence of the Kambe family. He aimed to reassert central control by validating estate records and confirming certification of major landholders such as the Kambe clan.

This caused the family to feel threatened and lay low to heal from what they’ve lost and to silently prepare to repossess what they esteemed to be _theirs_.

Tooru was not made aware of this when in the early years of him being Kagemori’s attendee. He was just cognizant of the fact that the last name Kambe used to be a very powerful name based on the stories his clients had told him.

When he was taken in by Kagemori, he was not invited to meetings nor even permitted to be near the vicinity of it. He simply trained under his master then stayed in place like an obedient dog when made to and dutifully waited for him to come back, loyal and willing to do all of his bidding.

Throughout the years, Tooru finally realized that Kagemori was starting these gratuitous battles and conquering city after city in order to take down the empire. He was growing older; he understood more and more of how things worked for the clan, and though he was named as part of it, he was not treated like one. He was kept as an outsider, even by Kagemori himself.

There was a time Tooru had asked Kagemori about it, but he was only met with a distracting touch on his cheek and a smile as the black haired man asked him, “Do you love me, Tooru?”

It was a surprising question, but Tooru did not hesitate to answer it wholeheartedly with the truth he believed in as he said, “Yes.” He hastily answered, “I would even die for you.”

Kagemori chuckled at his answer and dropped the hand warming Tooru’s skin.

“No, that’s not enough.” He said with a somber tone, looking disappointed in Tooru’s answer, and the younger craved warmth in his gaze and voice. Then with an encouraging tone, he added, “You should be able to _kill_ for me.”

Kagemori stood and walked out after that, leaving Tooru to wonder about what he truly meant by what he said by himself.

~~~

That night, Tooru went to the river near their shelter. When he was made to be a harlot, he didn’t have the freedom to go outside in order to lessen the likeliness of him being able to escape. He never really tried to do so in the long period he was kept there like a simple toy to be picked up when someone had wanted to play him, _use_ him.

As he walked on the stone path of the riverbank, he glanced down at the flow of water steadily running from his right, seeing his own static image on the cascading surface of the water reflecting it back for him to see.

He has a name now, but still he continued to wonder who he was.

This shell of a nobody he was looking at—has anything else really changed except for the fact that he now has something to use when he decides to regard it?

“Hey.”

Someone called out, and Tooru whipped his head quickly towards the sound and grounded his feet onto the ground, subtly centering the gravity of his body low in a defensive stance. He swiftly scanned the surroundings by the help of the moon’s glow, and he saw a male that looked to be someone a bit younger than he was, dressed in a pure white _kosode_ and a plain ash colored hakama, half of his long hair gathered in a tie and secured as a bun behind his head, standing five meters away from him.

“Who are you?” Tooru asked with a firm voice, lowering his chin towards his chest as he suspiciously eyed the other.

The man shrugged, “A nobody. I just like watching the lights above the sky which seem to float against the continuous stream of the water.”

“I _asked_ for who you are.” Tooru spoke again, stricter this time as he ordered, “State your name.”

The other paused walking as they stared at each other, and Tooru saw his dark eyes that did not sparkle against the dim light of the moon and stars. Though it had a strange kind of vibrancy which attracted him enough not to look away.

“Kenji.” He said, and Tooru awakened from his trance, “You can call me Kenji. Yours?”

Tooru let the silence hang in the air for a bit more as he investigated the man’s looks. He appeared to be somehow as tall as Tooru, but he was lanky, and his strides were clumsy.

He took a deep breath as he straightened his posture, not in the defensive anymore but still alert as he answered, “I’m not telling you yet.”

“Hey, that’s no fair.” Kenji whined as he took quick steps towards Tooru, and in a panicked defense, Tooru stepped back, half of his posterior foot having over the edge of the riverbank, making him lose his balance like a _dolt_.

He made a sharp, swift inhale through his nose and held it in as he balanced himself at the border. When he saw no hope and thought he would finally fall, he took a deeper inhale and gave up all of his control to fall unto the flowing stream of water, but then a hand slipped into his. Soon after, an arm slithered around his lower back, and a voice, vexing and arrogant near his ear had come for his salvation, saying, “It’s our first time meeting and you’re immediately making me save you from an accident?”

Tooru huffed as he instinctively held on to the closest thing he could grab and planted his feet perfectly back on the ground again, standing upright by using his own limbs, relieved that he was out of danger but exasperated at the fact that he was saved by a suspicious individual.

Tooru made some distance between them again as he fixed the order of his clothes.

“Don’t make me reach for the river, yeah?” Kenji said, placing his hands on his waist as he glanced down at the gush of water, “I’m not able to swim.”

“I did not make you. What you just did was voluntary.” Tooru argued while he combed back his long hair away from his face using his hands.

“Indeed. Now, I might have voluntarily saved you, but I think you do owe me your name, at least?” Kenji asked, facing Tooru again with expectant eyes and a smile that would not take no as an answer.

Tooru sighed at the sight of such a pompous brat. He did not want to give in, but his mouth betrayed him as he said, “Tooru.”

He regretted it more as Kenji’s grin curved even further, and it irked Tooru that he felt his cheek become heated when he spoke with that nasal, teasing tone in his voice, “A pretty name for a pretty face.”

“Don’t attempt to flatter me.” Tooru said, averting his eyes away and hoping that the night was his comrade in camouflaging the warmth on his face. He liked it when people complimented his name, and it’s a bonus if they compliment his face as well.

“I wasn’t trying to.” Tooru heard as he turned his back to start to walk along the stream once again.

He heard the sounds of a pair of _geta_ sandals following him from behind to his left, away from the river but close to him enough to ask, “Why couldn’t you swim? Were you an awful learner?”

There was a chuckle, one that Tooru could not place as pure amusement but one with hurt and shame too. It intrigued Tooru, but he did not mention it.

“And why should I reveal my weaknesses to a stranger?”

Tooru’s brows knotted, and he stopped in his tracks to look behind him because he was right of what he heard from his chuckle. He then asked, “Why is it considered as a weakness of yours?”

Kenji smirked as he puffed a short laugh, “Tooru- _dono_ , our time together has not been enough to make green tea, less even when serving it, and you’re already asking about personal questions?”

With an understanding scowl on his face, Tooru stiffly nodded, “Forgive my trespassing then.”

“What’s with the face?” Kenji looked at him like he was funny and led for the walk to start again himself.

“Past habits I couldn’t rid myself of yet.” Tooru answered, falling into step with the other, looking down on their feet as he reflected on what he did. He was used to being told secrets, vulnerabilities, and sins for their own comfort like he was a void that would simply absorb such information, like he was the water they would use to wash the filth upon their feet.

“Perhaps you may be able to tell them to me someday.” Kenji sang, looking up above them as if he was hopeful Tooru would agree with what was said.

“How would there even be a ‘someday’ for us?” He squinted as he disputed the statement, “We’re strangers, aren’t we?”

Kenji gave him a hearty laugh, “Yes, yes. Indeed, we are, but I was optimistic that you would give me another day to chat with you, at the very least?”

“A day.” Tooru repeated with disdain, “You think I would fancy seeing you again for another day?”

“You don’t?” Kenji asked, and he turned his head to directly meet Tooru’s eyes once again, holding him captive in those beautifully, clouded, brown eyes.

Tooru opened his mouth but didn’t speak, because in all honesty, he _was_ curious about the man.

“I’ve had night walks for years along this river and have only met you today.” Tooru said instead, “Are you new in the capital?”

Kenji scoffed, and Tooru found it a bit suspicious as he fixated on the other.

“I was born here.” Kenji said, his tone harsh, but it softened as he tilted his chin down and muttered, “I was just not permitted to be outside.”

Tooru wanted to ask a lot of things; most of them were whys, but he swallowed them all back down as he tried to say with an uninterested tone, “Someday you’ll tell me?”

Kenji’s eyes were veiled with mirth when he looked back at Tooru with a smile. He blinked and released an exhale, “Someday.”

“So what’s something about you that you _can_ tell me?” Tooru urged with a nudge on Kenji’s arm, which made him realize that the space between them and the riverstream was wider, and that their distance from each other was lesser.

“I have already told too much for the night. It should be your turn by now.” Kenji raised a brow, nudging his arm back.

Tooru snickered and wondered if this was how boys his age usually act and bond together. He has not had any acquaintances that were near his age. The Kambe clan only treated him as Kagemori’s _boy_ —nothing else.

“Alright, let’s see.” Tooru hummed, looking far away as he wondered which part of his life could be easily tolerated by a mere stranger, and quickly, he decided, “Oh, I’m an orphan.”

Kenji awkwardly halted from walking. Confused, Tooru paused beside him as well and simply stared.

After a second, Kenji shook his head with a chuckle, “I thought we could start off by saying our favorite color.”

Tooru was taken aback, and he bowed his head in slight embarrassment, “Oh.” He thought about it for a moment, then he said, “The color of the sea perhaps?”

Kenji nodded as an encouragement, “Well, I have a younger sibling, and I like the color of emeralds.” But then the buoyant mood in his voice came back as he snickered, “You weren’t willing to tell me your name and yet you spat that out so easily.”

Tooru raised his shoulders, “I thought you’d appreciate it if I said something substantial like you did.”

Kenji took a deep breath to cease his huffs of joy, then he said, “Alright. Maybe I’ll hear more of that someday.”

“Maybe.” Tooru teased with a flutter of his lashes, then he said, “Your turn. If you weren’t allowed outside, how are you here then?”

“Okay, maybe I can answer that.” Kenji pondered as he put his hands together behind his back, “A friend of mine helps me escape to get outside. He used to accompany me and reprimand me if I ever went out of the shadows, but something happened and he’s being nicer to me now.”

“What is it that happened?” Tooru asked curiously.

“I’ve been alive for 21 years now.” Kenji said, “So now I can have my night escapades by myself.”

Out of nowhere, a bell rang from a far away distance, resonating all throughout the capital. Tooru was distracted by it, and Kenji’s head perked up at the sound of it as well, then at the second ring of the bell, he said, “The Hour of the Tiger. That’s my cue to leave.”

“I see.” Tooru muttered as he met Kenji’s gaze once more, not knowing what to do and say next, “It was nice knowing you.”

Kenji flashed his teeth at Tooru, charming and handsome as he said, “If you’d like to know me more, then come here earlier before the Hour of the Ox two days from now.”

“The hour in which the spirits are at their strongest?” Tooru asked with an unbelieving tone.

Kenji shrugged, “Better those, than people.”

The seventh and final bell echoed onto the ground, and as it faded away, Kenji bowed at him before turning his back and disappearing into the shadows.

~~~

Two days after that initial meeting, Tooru did go back to the river with a low expectation of meeting the mysterious man named Kenji once again. Though it was also true that Tooru came there to wash away his thoughts and let it flow along the stream before there was his desire to speak with him again.

The river was calmer that night so he had the courage to dip his feet into the water, and as he listened to the eight bells signalling the Hour of the Ox, he heard footsteps accompany its beats.

“Hey.”

That same voice from two days ago greeted, but softer this time.

“You waited long?” Kenji asked, and Tooru scoffed as a retort.

“I wasn’t waiting for you.” Tooru lied, “I come here a lot even before I met you.”

“I know. I’ve watched you pace this length of the river quite a lot now.” Kenji said as he settled down from a safe distance away from the body of water, and Tooru had to crane his neck just to glare at him.

“Are you a spy?” Tooru accused with a bit of jest in his tone, but deep down he felt himself tense and prepare for a physical fight.

Kenji sputtered, “A spy?” Then a boisterous laugh, “Oh, I wish I could be one but I’m not up for such a task, really.”

“Explain why you’ve been watching me then.” Tooru glowered at him, an attempt at intimidating the other into submission to saying the truth, and in his opinion, maybe it worked _too_ well.

“I thought you were captivating.” Kenji smugly stated, shamelessly, “Aone told me I could only look so that’s what I did.”

“Looking is different than watching.” Tooru reprimanded, but it had no effect on Kenji's haughtiness.

“It’s mostly the same. I simply continued to _observe_.” Kenji debated, but Tooru wasn’t having it. What were those times he thought he was alone and all of a sudden, a stranger told him he was being watched at that moment?

“So, you acted like I was a mere bird perched on a tree’s branch—”

Kenji interrupted him, “More like an injured bird at the bottom of a tree who dreamt of flying.”

Tooru’s mouth hung open; perplexed, appalled, and offended. With the way Kenji met his eyes, it seemed as if he knew he made a mistake himself.

He snapped and hissed at Kenji, “You don’t know me.”

Kenji brought his hands through his hair and hid behind his hands for a short second, to which he came out of with a decisive look and straight posture as he answered, “ _Yes_. I do not.”

The silence grew between the two of them, and Tooru turned away when Kenji did not say another word, disappointment surging from the back of his head.

“Forgive me.”

Tooru heard, carefully and meekly, like it could be eaten up by the pleasant noise of the river’s current.

“Forgive me.” He repeated, strongly and more genuinely this time, “I’ve just— I have seen you for a long time and had already built an idea of who you are inside my head.”

Kenji sighed, “Everytime I looked at you, I believed that it was all I could have.”

There was a pause, and Tooru took a discreet glance over Kenji, then he saw him looking sincerely disturbed.

“I’m sorry. I’ve assumed a lot about you. I tried not to blind myself with it and simply just _see_ you as you are but—”

“How many times have you watched me?” Tooru butted in, and he looked at Kenji straight on to force honesty from the other.

Kenji's features showed bafflement at the inquiry, but there was no sign in his facial features that he would lie as he truthfully answered, “Maybe thirteen nights over three months? I’m quite unsure myself as I rarely go out.”

“Why?” Tooru asked, and Kenji stopped at that, his gaze shaky before he could finally fixate his vision on Tooru.

“I’ve already told you.” Kenji reasoned with a shrug, and Tooru thought he was leaving it at that with a boring answer, but he added, “You were as beautiful as the moon I adored every night.”

This time, it was Tooru that quivered in his seat as he averted his gaze. He wanted candid answers, but he did not want to hear somebody wax poetic about _him_.

“When I first saw you, your shoulders were hunched forwards, your back was curved, your head was bowed. You stubbornly shivered throughout a whole hour that particular cold night.” Kenji said, and Tooru closed his eyes in shame as he remembers just how pathetic he felt that night.

That specific day, Kagemori didn’t warmly hold him in his arms like he used to before. He was cold and apathetic. Tooru was just a tool he would put his manhood in and have his release to let out his frustrations. Kagemori never hurt him out of his boundaries and without consent before, but that night, he did. Tooru tolerated it because he knew just how much responsibility was on his shoulders and the distress it brings along with it, but when he asked for a bit of affection and was denied of it, he ran to the river, his clothes inappropriate for the temperature outside.

“I wasn’t waiting or expecting for you to show up the next time I saw you, but you seemed better.” Kenji chuckled, and Tooru wondered why he found that amusing, “You were confident in your strides at the edge of the riverbank. You even adorably giggled at your own reflection.”

 _Oh_ . Tooru bit his lower lip to stop from cringing. _That day_.

An old lady who bakes bread complimented his name that day. She even permitted him to call her _obaasan_.

“Days after I got permitted to go out again, I _was_ waiting for you, but you weren’t there. Then the next, you were there again.” Kenji looked up, and Tooru could feel his eyes on the side of his face, creating tingles on the tip of his ear as he heard him say, “Sometimes you’re whole and shining brightly, then sometimes you could be fragmented and dimmer.”

Kenji leaned back and beheld the night sky above them, “At times you’re there as if you’re near my reach, and at times you disappear completely out of sight.” Kenji smiled, “And just like the moon, you’re beautiful no matter what.”

Tooru didn’t have anything to say. He didn’t know how and what to feel about how Kenji perceived him. It came across as if Kenji simply saw him as who he was in front of a river. Whoever he was when he thought he was alone with his reflection on the water, that was what he saw.

He might have made up his own narrative in some way, but he still saw Tooru as just Tooru; not influenced by anything else.

“You don’t know me.” Tooru said, once more in a hushed tone this time, just as a gentle reminder to the both of them that they still are strangers, and there are boundaries not to be stepped upon and lines not to be crossed.

“I know. You were just a painting showing different emotions which I adored against your permission.” Kenji said, sounding apologetic, “And now, it’s very strange that I’m talking to that same piece of art.”

Tooru didn’t know what it was that was inside him. He couldn’t interpret the beating against his chest, he couldn’t understand the shiver in his hands, he couldn’t comprehend the coldness he felt on his fingertips, but he was sure that he was curious as to what this all meant.

So with a small smile, he met Kenji’s gaze once again, saying, “You can only look before, but now you can listen to it as well.”

An appreciative expression took over Kenji’s face, and he spoke, sounding relieved.

“I am most grateful.”

~~~

Kenji took note of Tooru's favorite color, then he mentioned of not having been to the sea yet, so Tooru suggested they go there for the next time he was permitted to escape outside. They have chatted enough to know how to rile up each other, so a trip to the sea may not be such a bad idea.

The other had dismissed the idea at first, stating that the time to walk to the sea from his shelter, the time to enjoy the sea, and the time to go back would take more than the Hour of the Ox.

Tooru solved the problem by saying he could bring a horse. It makes travelling easier, faster, and more convenient. It took him two more meetings at the river before he was able to convince Kenji, so on the designated day, he fetched his horse named _Miyako_ , a beautiful mare with a black and shiny coat. It was the reason why he named her as a ‘ _beautiful night child_ ’.

The horse whinnied at his presence and he hushed her down so as to not alert any of the clan members. He was not really forbidden to go outside at this time of the night by Kagemori, but he was not also permitted to do so; therefore, he’d rather be careful about this, especially since he's taking a horse with him and his hair tied up in a tight bun. It would be obvious his night expedition would be somewhere far, and he might get accompanied by someone, or worse, suspected of conniving against the Kambe clan.

As he walked his horse out of the stables, Tooru was not sure if it was just his paranoia that made him feel eyes on his back, stimulating goosebumps to rise on his nape. He swiftly looked behind him to inspect, but he saw no one.

Releasing a breath and praying to the gods he’s not making a mistake of trusting someone he has only met a few times, he continued on his journey towards the sea.

~~~

Tooru was asked to ride silently on the paved road at the west side of a walled property, facing a forest with the river on the other side of it as Kenji told him. Their route that hour would be how Kenji escapes to the river, but while his horse trotted quietly along the high walls, he couldn’t really tell where Kenji would be. He was told that a chrysanthemum would let him know and he’s been looking at the forest to look for one, but so far there wasn’t any.

The bells rang to announce the arrival of the witching hour, and Tooru looked forward as he calmly led his horse. He felt like someone’s eyes were on him once more, and he wanted to see if there was anyone watching him but instead he saw what seemed like a cut stem of a chrysanthemum bloom, lying on the cemented ground.

Tooru tilted his head in confusion; was it the sign? What is it signing? Is it Kenji’s? Did Kenji drop it because of an altercation? Did he get caught?

Foolishly, Tooru did a frantic full swing of his body to look around, scanning all of the angles his hips could let him, but then the point of view he did not ever expect for Kenji to use in order to get into his vision, was from _above_.

He heard ropes being swung over to the outside of the wall, limping against the surface of it. When Tooru raised his head up to see what it was about, Kenji was at the top of the wall, posed in a way which made it seem like he was going to walk down the wall with something as simple as a rope, held by someone else on top.

The toes of his bare, left foot were already against the wall, his right foot still hanging at the top, and when Kenji actually pulled all of his weight back to plant both of his feet onto the wall, Tooru felt his heart skip a beat.

He speechlessly observed how Kenji trekked down the vertical easily as if he’s done it a hundred times—which he _actually_ . _Probably. Did_.

A meter from the safe, horizontal ground, Kenji made a hand gesture to the person at the top, and he was safely dropped to his feet. Tooru assumed that the technique was meant to make the individual holding Kenji’s weight at the top to be able to control when he loses it, unlike in the scenario of Kenji simply letting the rope loose, the person pulling his weight from above would be driven backwards, potentially leading them to a fall into their pathetic death.

“Hey.” Kenji casually greeted as he wore his _geta_ sandals and arranged the lower half of his hair not tied up as if he did not just walk down from the heavens above, "You look good with your hair up."

Tooru glowered at him, as if his hairstyle was the matter they must be talking about, so he said, “Really.”

Kenji let out a careless chuckle, and though he knew it wasn't a question, he answered, “Yeah. Really.” He winked with a click of a tongue and said, “Now, let’s get out of here before the guards round here.”

With a reluctant sigh, Tooru ignored the subject for a moment and nodded to the seat behind him, “You’ve ever ridden a horse?”

Tooru offered Kenji a hand as he placed his left foot onto the stirrup. He held onto Tooru’s arm tightly as he pulled himself up and swung his right leg over the horse’s rump, answering, “Yeah, but I’ve never led it because I have a weak heart.”

 _Weak heart?_ Tooru pondered, but he kept that thought to himself.

“Can I really trust you with this?” Kenji asked, his voice teasing but Tooru could hear the skeptical tone in it.

“Oh, come on. You’ve stalked me. I’m the one who shouldn't trust you.” Tooru heard a _geh_ from behind him, and so he added, “Especially since you’ve just come down from the daunting walls of a _s_ _ato-dairi._ ”

Tooru felt an exhale on his clothed back, and if that was not enough to give him the chills distracting him from the fact that Kenji escaped the _emperor’s_ secondary palace, he also felt something lay down on his shoulder tiredly as Kenji said, “I’ll explain a bit later.”

After a swallow to regain his composure, Tooru gently squeezed the horse with his lower legs, prompting it to walk into the forest, “Well. Inform me if the pace becomes unmanageable for your weak heart then.”

“We're going through a forest, you cannot hasten in there." Kenji said, raising his head and pinning his chin on Tooru’s shoulder which tickled a bit. His hands had crept onto the side of Tooru’s robes as well, clutching it nervously into his fists.

Tooru inspected the ground and the distance between the trees. He deemed the place having plenty enough space to give Kenji a slight scare, so with a smirk, he chuckled and said, "Better hold on tighter than that."

Then without warning, he tugged on Miyako's reins, directing them forward, the inertia effectively making Kenji pull away from Tooru and quickly embrace him so he would not fall off.

"You're going to kill me!"

Tooru only laughed, letting the wind that was blowing through his locks carry it away.

~~~

They bickered all through the short journey of the forest. Tooru teased Kenji that wolves or bears could attack them in there, but it was ineffective since Kenji's route to the river has always been through this forest. He also said that the forest was his resting place before he was allowed to view the river, meaning that he’s pretty familiar with the path they were taking.

Kenji told him there are times that the guards do make their rounds out here as well, and it was easy to hide if you're alone, but with a horse, that would be a feat. As soon as that was said, Tooru saw a flicker of a flame which he assumed was a lamp brought by a soldier, so he panicked—stopped the horse behind a tree, dismounted, and asked Kenji to get down as well.

With a mocking face, Kenji told him there was nothing to fear. The flame he saw was probably a spirit. They’re visible to humans mostly during the Hour of the Ox, which led them to a conversation about beliefs.

Tooru did not believe in spirits or the higher entities, or more like he rejected and denied their existence. Kenji asked him why, and he only answered that the gods had never favored him, so why should he? Kenji had the same view about the gods, but mentioned that some spirits, though he did not see them with his own eyes, were helpful towards him in a way he couldn’t explain. That statement did nothing to convince Tooru.

Once they had gone through the forest, the moonlight welcomed them at the exit, glowing at the concrete of the riverbank and reflected back by the surface of the water. It was a dazzling sight he'd had always admired for a long time now, but the sea would give them a different perspective.

"Ready for the sea?" Tooru asked after the silence for appreciation of the view had run its course.

"Would it be more beautiful than this?" Kenji asked, and Tooru wondered how he should answer that.

"I'd give that decision to you instead." He smiled, then he faced forward, holding the reins tight inside his palms, saying, "Hold on to me."

As soon as Kenji tightened his arms around Tooru’s waist, he urged his horse to run freely towards the sea. Kenji hid his face at the center of his back between his shoulder blades, which was not something Tooru would let him do, so he shouted against the ripping of the wind against them, "Come on! Be at ease!"

"I've never ridden this fast before!" Kenji shouted back. Tooru looked down on the hands joined together in front of him, and they were quivering to the slightest.

"Trust me! It is not something you should fear just because you haven't yet." Tooru comforted, placing his own warm hand against Kenji's cold pair, "Ease your heart."

Kenji’s hand detached from his other so that he could clasp his with Tooru’s instead, and with a gentle clutch back, Tooru asked, "Do you have your eyes closed?"

The silence was enough of an answer, and Tooru fondly snickered at the fact before he said, "Try to open them on the ride back."

With one last squeeze on Kenji’s hand, he let go of it to lead the horse better. The reins were not as soft as Kenji’s hand, but the warmth against his back and around his hips were good enough for him not to be bothered by the chilling breeze they were riding into.

~~~

The sound of the waves were becoming resonant as they came close enough to see its beauty. Tooru nudged Kenji from behind him and said, "We're here."

He felt Kenji stir to sit upright and look at the sea's direction, and an exclaim of amazement immediately came after, "It’s so wide?"

Tooru laughed as he guided Miyako to a softer trot onto the sand, then he said, "Yes, it is."

Once they were close enough, Tooru halted his horse and dismounted first. He offered a hand to Kenji, which the other took as he also stepped down, saying, "I can smell salt."

Tooru wanted to laugh again because this was also the first time for him to see someone who has never seen the sea before, but he didn't and just let Kenji watch the body of water he came here to see.

"I love the smell of it." Kenji stated in a faint murmur which made Tooru look at him, and he saw his features in a calm manner; his lips were subtly curved, his breaths were deep and lungful.

Under the moonlight, Kenji looked just as captivating as the sea, Tooru admitted to himself. He didn’t understand why he had to force himself to look away.

Once he directed Miyako to sit down and have a rest, he asked while he started to undress, "Are you going in with me?"

Kenji had his back facing him, so when the other turned to see him disrobing himself, there was a squawk of bafflement.

"What are you doing?" Kenji asked in a panic.

Tooru shrugged as he swung his suikan over the horse’s saddle, "Going into the water?"

"With such temperature?" Kenji asked, his tone in a higher octave, and when Tooru proceeded to get his hakama off as well, Kenji added, " _Naked_?"

“And? Don’t tell me this is your first time seeing someone in the nude?” Tooru provoked, raising a brow to tease Kenji _and_ to know the answer.

“Wha— It’s not, but—”

Tooru widened his eyes, surprised at the truth, then Kenji flushed and shook his head, “That’s not the point! I’m worried you might freeze to death!”

Kenji appeared adorable with his ears red at the tips, and Tooru couldn’t stop the laugh that came out of him, “That’s cute of you.”

“Shut your mouth.” Kenji hissed, and then his eyes fell on Tooru’s skin, something he predicted that would be of interest, but his gaze only skimmed over it and immediately headed towards the waves.

 _Hmm_. Tooru smiled, because now it’s him who’s curious as to why he reacted that way.

“You’re not asking about it?” Tooru prompted, and it amused him that Kenji smirked at him while eyeing his _groin_ on purpose.

With an insultingly bored tone in his voice, Kenji asked, “Am I supposed to be impressed?”

“Ha!” Tooru was _actually_ offended by that.

When Kenji looked away to stare at the sea, the wind brushing his long, dark hair back to free his face from it, he whispered, “You’d tell me if you want to, so I’ll just wait.”

Tooru took a breath as he stood there naked in front of a stranger, baring himself in his birth clothes in a stupid rebellion against the weather. He decided that there would be nothing wrong to tell some of his secrets that could ruin the image Kenji had of him, because it was Kenji’s fault to have had them in the first place.

He stepped beside Kenji and grabbed his hand, then he let his fingertips graze the scar, a well known label of a thief and an illegal entertainer. As soon as his cold fingertips connected with the risen skin on his left hip, Kenji snapped his head to inspect Tooru’s face, but Tooru did not let him see it as he bowed his head lower.

“I was a whore before I was saved by my benefactor.” Tooru admitted, his voice even and unwavering because he has learned to live with that truth for so long, and he admired Kenji because if he was surprised, he didn’t let it show as he held his sturdy posture, his eyes still on Tooru like silently telling him it doesn’t change how he sees him.

Tooru then let go of Kenji’s hand, and he felt the other hold on to his fingers a bit longer than it would have, so he giggled as he looked up to see Kenji’s expression, then he said, “That’s why I can stand here naked without feeling embarrassed at all.”

Kenji laughed along with him, his tone jesting as he said, “I commend your shamelessness, Tooru-dono.”

"Well, this savior of yours…" Kenji started with a cautious tone.

Tooru snickered at this, so he saved him from the awkwardness and answered without waiting for the question, "Yes, he is my lover."

"You love him?" He asked with a curious lilt in his voice.

"I do." Tooru honestly answered.

"And he loves you?"

That question made Tooru laugh once more, then he nodded as he answered, "I like to think that that is the case."

"Of course." Kenji said quickly, almost defensively, "Of course."

With a teasing tone, he said, "Don't pay any heed to it. Envy is poison."

“It’s been in my blood since, I have built up immunity for it.” Kenji retorted back with a wink.

Tooru then nodded towards the waves, “You’re not really going in with me?”

“I’d do what I do best.” Kenji smirked.

“Watching me?” Tooru supplied, and he laughed when Kenji simply shrugged with a pout, so he added, “Watch me well.”

He walked closer to the water, leaving Kenji behind. He dipped his toes first, testing the coldness of it and gauging how much of it he can tolerate, then he submerged himself into it. He did not look back to see how Kenji watched him, he just knew and felt he was being observed, but this time he didn’t mind it at all.

~~~

When Tooru finally made the decision to emerge, Kenji was waiting for him at the exact same spot he left him with the _tenugui_ he left on the horse’s saddle in his hands, and a _kimono_ hanging on his forearm.

Tooru strutted towards the man confidently, not minding the fact that his risen manhood was in full display. He grabbed the fabric handed by Kenji and dried himself with it, and when Kenji offered to cloth him with the kimono as well, he turned his back and spread his arms.

“I’m from a family of loyal servants to the emperor.” Kenji started, “I told you I’d explain a bit, didn’t I?”

Tooru stayed muted for a moment. It was well known that the emperor does not like to open up the walls of his palace or his temporary palace easily, hence, keeping his servants, soldiers, and courtesans locked up inside it like they were prisoners. There were rumors that once anyone of those was caught in an escape, they would be slain.

He didn't expect Kenji to be from a family of the emperor’s loyal attendants. The emperor, despite his harsh, absurd rules and cruelty to traitors, was a kind master to his subordinates as long as they stayed in line with his morals.

"My mother was a slave to the throne for years, therefore, I was born inside the palace." Kenji stated with sullen eyes, "I've never been allowed to see the outside of it since birth."

“Shouldn’t you be more careful?” Tooru asked as Kenji stood in front of him to finish robing him his kimono.

“I’ll be killed. That’s all.” Kenji said in an indifferent tone, and it made Tooru squint his eyes.

“Don’t say such things.” Tooru reprimanded, but Kenji only snickered at him.

With a playful smile, he said, “Don’t let it spoil the night, Tooru.” He then offered a hand, “What do you say I warm you up? People have told me that I have a warm body.”

Tooru obliged in letting go of the previous matter reluctantly, but he peeked Kenji’s hand and said, “My hands were warmer than yours when we were on the horse.”

“Oh, that was because I was nervous.” Kenji debated with huffs of amusement, then he lowered his hand and spread his arms instead.

“Well?” Kenji expectantly looked at him, “I’m asking if you would allow me to embrace you.”

“You adore me that much?” Tooru taunted lightly.

“I’m _concerned_.” Kenji contested with an emphasis, but when Tooru took his left arm in his left hand and wrapped it around his waist, attaching his shivering back onto the other’s accommodating chest, Kenji chuckled, “But, yes. That, too.”

Kenji wrapped his other arm around Tooru’s waist as well, just like their position on top of the horse, so then Tooru suggested, “Shall we sit down?”

They sat down on the sand, and Tooru found himself comfortably lying down onto Kenji's lap and into his warm embrace. He had his head against his shoulder, and it just felt right to him. What did make him feel disturbed was when Kenji brought his hand up to caress his tightly tied bun, and then his nail grazing the spine on his neck as he brought it down when he said, "Your hair is wet."

"I'll dry it at home." Tooru answered shortly, not wasting any of his breath to retain heat and to keep hold of his composure, but then Kenji's exhale brushed onto Tooru’s exposed neck, making him suck in a breath and curl up into himself in hopes to hide his face.

"Tooru?" Kenji called, and it did not help him at all to hear him say his name so close to his ear while his blood was rushing towards his other head.

Shyly, Tooru confessed, "I'm _sensitive_."

Kenji had the audacity to laugh at him, "And here I thought it didn't bother you. Is it the cold?"

Tooru pondered about that for a moment, and he didn't like the answer he concluded with.

 _It's you_. He thought, and in an emboldened state, he asked, "Would you stay to hold me just like this and watch?"

Kenji became as stiff as a statue. Tooru could not even feel him breathe, and he felt himself warm because of the uneasiness he brought upon the two of them.

"You're letting me do that?" Kenji spoke after a little while, and Tooru perked up at his voice.

Taking a deep breath, he answered, "If it doesn't bring you any discomfort."

There was a careful tone in his voice as Kenji answered in a murmur, "I wouldn't mind."

Tooru nodded at that while he released a shaky breath. He has done this time and time again with different people without the sense of humiliation, so he could do this with Kenji just as easily was what he thought.

Kenji tightened his hold around his waist as he reached for his member, and as he did his ministrations to himself, he felt Kenji breathe him in. He heard him smile beside his ear before he muttered, "You smell like the sea."

Tooru closed his eyes and sighed in satisfaction. He picked up his pace and titled his face to look at Kenji. He slowly opened his eyes and used his free hand to angle Kenji’s eyes to meet his. As soon as Kenji's gaze fell upon his needy lips, Tooru said, "Kiss me."

Kenji did not immediately follow his request, but with a tug on his long hair, Kenji tilted his head down to meet Tooru’s open mouth, warming his cold lips with his wet and warm tongue.

It tasted like salt. Saltwater, to be exact, and this seemed to encourage Kenji even more.

Tooru quietly moaned into the kiss, driving himself closer to the edge, and when they parted, he saw Kenji's slicked lips pulled upwards at the corners as he grumbled, "Is that how the sea tastes like?"

Tooru breathlessly answered, "Yeah."

"Can I taste more of it?" Kenji asked, his lips speaking against Tooru’s saltwater dampened skin, and when Tooru gave the affirmative nod and a verbal _yes_ , he was quick to place open mouthed kisses all over Tooru’s shoulders, crawling up to the base of his neck, then to the side, to his ear, to his cheek.

Kenji was _tasting_ him zealously, giving Tooru the impression that Kenji would lick him all over if he was granted permission.

Tooru got lost in the sensation because all he ever knew was the feeling of almost being devoured. He was used to that. Kagemori did kiss him softly like he was something fragile, but this was different from that as well.

Kenji kissed him like he was a delicacy he wouldn't get to taste for another time, so he takes his time in nipping at each spot, appreciating every hum and every hitching of breath that he induces with his lips and teeth.

Tooru lived his early life as a cheap void sucking in all the filth of his clients in order to serve pleasure. He then at least became a servant to a master, but he was also treated just like a doll. He was never treated like an equal. Like he was just a person they've naturally met.

Kenji made him feel those emotions, and though Kenji warned him that he might have made up an image of Tooru for himself, Tooru never felt that becoming a hindrance between them from getting closer to see each other's truths.

Just like he was shedding off some of his own barriers, Kenji discards the fraud pieces of his mosaic. Tooru slowly removes his mask, and Kenji slowly unties his blindfold.

Tooru was so close to his end, and he clutched onto Kenji's knee as he curled his toes. What perfectly set him off was not a bite on his ear, not a suck on the ticklish spot on his neck, not a tongue on his nape.

When Kenji unconsciously caressed his scar as he gently left a chaste kiss upon his temple, that was when he saw the stars in the sky multiply by tenfold.

~~~

On the way back, Tooru was still pumping with adrenaline. Not just because of his own release, but because soon after spurts of white coated his hand, he felt Kenji’s own stiffness against his back.

He was impulsive, so he turned to look at the other and asked if he wanted any help with it, offering his mouth. Kenji denied him, telling him he wasn't obligated to do so, that it wasn't his job to do so.

Kenji proposed that Tooru simply face him this time and lay beside him so he could continue to smell the sea from his skin and warm his skin.

Tooru did what he was asked to do—he laid his head on top of Kenji’s chest and cuddled his left side. As Kenji took care of himself, Tooru gave him encouraging pats on his cheek and light sucks on his shoulder. He also ran his hand through his hair, petting him, which made Kenji lean into his touch almost like a feline and murmuring his name like it was a purr.

When he noticed Kenji nearing his end, Tooru asked if he could kiss him, and with licked lips and a nod, Tooru did.

It was a slow but steady kiss. Not filled with such fervent passion, but one that took its time to explore each other's mouths and delve into each other's emotions.

Tooru didn’t want to part, but it had to. It was a mix of disappointment and amazement when Kenji pulled away from their kiss to exhale a sigh of contentment. He finished just like that; peacefully, his face flushed and his smile light and carefree.

He would want to have _this_ , whatever this was, for a longer time. It was something he never thought he could attain, something he never thought he needed, something he never thought he would be made aware of.

Though they were still almost strangers, Tooru felt like they'd known each other for so long already. It was as if their personalities were molded for each other and for them to easily understand one another.

It made Tooru think that maybe they were fated to meet just like this. Like they were always meant to know each other.

They tidied themselves up and wordlessly rode the horse back before the witching hour was over.

It was the same position from the start of their journey, but this time Kenji was able to open his eyes for a bit, and his hands weren't trembling in anxiety anymore. He settled with a closer embrace to hold onto Tooru and rested his head on his shoulders to catch a nap.

Kenji was less energetic after all that stimulation so Tooru also leisurely took his time in running the horse. They had ample enough time before the Hour of the Tiger.

As they passed by the river, Tooru lowered the pace in preparation for entering the forest, and with such a pace, he could speak in a silent manner and still be heard.

"You alright? We're almost there." He asked, concern obviously laced in his tone as he softly stirred Kenji awake.

"Mmh." Kenji moaned, the weight on Tooru’s back lifting a bit as he woke up, "I probably overworked myself."

"When you said weak heart…" Tooru trailed off, not wanting to overstep his boundaries just because they’ve done something together under the moonlight at the seaside.

"I meant it exactly as it is." Kenji answered anyway, then he added, "Both the priest and the physician had told me my heart is too weak to handle much action."

Tooru remained silent as they finally got into the forest, the horse’s hooves clicking against the pavement.

"Forgive me for being a burden." Kenji apologized, but it wasn't necessary, so Tooru clicked his tongue to dispute it.

"No need. I'm the one who should be sorry. I might have pushed you to your limits without knowing anything." Tooru murmured in guilt.

"And I have Iet you do it freely." Kenji argued with a smile in his voice, then he added with a comforting tone, "Don't worry, I had fun."

Tooru looked behind him to glance at Kenji. He didn’t see his facial expression as the top of his head was all Kenji let him see with their position, but the kiss on his clothed shoulder and the small thank you he received were enough to blow away the jitters.

Kenji asked to be dropped at the clearing of the forest before the wall. He was meant to wait for Aone dropping the rope back down when it's clear above so he could hoist him up.

Tooru offered to stay and wait with him, but since the horse is an easy target to spot, Kenji made him go home immediately.

He was at least half a kilometer away from the sato-dairi when the Hour of the Ox ended, and with the bell signalling the Hour of the Tiger, Tooru made a pause to look at the palace's direction, hoping that Kenji had made it back safely.

~~~

Weeks after meeting once in a while after that night at the seaside, Tooru heard some of the family members talk about the emperor leaving the sato-dairi to visit a different town for a while, meaning that the guards and the palace's security would be lowered, then the immediate thought that popped into his head was Kenji.

It bothered him, because Kagemori used to fill every single thought of his, all of his mind's nicks and crevices, but now he's felt that thrill and excitement from a simple thought of Kenji like he’s the sunrise he could see once he climbed a mountain.

Kenji was like a view he's never seen before, a smell he's never inhaled before, a taste he's never ingested before, and it peaks his craving.

His neediness of it; it's scary.

That night, he went to the river in waiting for Kenji to come, but as if the mysterious man knew the growing dangerous hunger within Tooru, he didn’t show up.

~~~

"Tooru."

Somebody called while he was inside his room, the voice familiar and beguiling.

He looked behind him and saw Kagemori walking towards him. He met Kagemori’s dark irises—a blackhole that sucks him in, draws him in so close, making it impossible to get out of. Tooru loved it before, but the wrinkle in Kagemori's eyes made the back of his spine feel a chill run through it.

Without another word, once he came close, Kagemori loosely wrapped his arms around Tooru, burying his face into the junction of Tooru’s neck and shoulders, breathing him in.

They stayed like that for a moment, and Tooru found himself hugging him back, like he has been aching for him to hold him this way again, but that was because he _was_.

He _has_ been waiting to be held like this again by Kagemori, and it didn't even matter how hurt he was during the time he was discarded to the side like a rag because he was acknowledged once more. He felt _loved_ and _seen_ again.

"Thank you for being by my side, Tooru." Kagemori uttered onto his skin, leaving a soft kiss on top of his hair as he stood back up properly.

He was still taller so Tooru had to look up, and when he saw him looking down at him just like how he did when he asked for his name, Tooru swooned all over again.

"Would you stay with me?" Kagemori asked him, and Tooru had no doubt that his answer was what his heart felt at that exact moment.

So he smiled, a promise in his voice as he answered.

"Forever."

~~~

Tooru was smoking with a _kiseru_ at the riverbank when he felt another's presence accompany him. He greeted, "It’s been a while."

"It has been." Kenji answered with a puff as he settled behind Tooru.

"Why don’t you sit beside me?" Tooru asked, a bit wounded.

"I'm not privileged enough to smoke." Kenji answered in a low tone, and Tooru slowly understood what it meant.

Taking one last inhale of the leaves, he tapped it away to the river, letting it wash away the ashes.

"You didn’t have to stop—"

"Let's meet in daylight." Tooru interrupted. He has waited for five continuous nights to ask this of Kenji, and he would not let this chance pass with small talks.

Kenji didn't speak for a moment, and Tooru resisted against his will to look behind him to see his face. He wanted to know what his expression was like so at least he could prepare himself if he would ever be rejected, but he was scared to see it.

"The guards have toned down a bit, but the security is still impeccable." Kenji said after a while, his tone laced with disbelief, "What way do you propose that I may go outside in broad daylight?"

Tooru closed his eyes and sighed, because he did think about this and led to no absolute solution to the problem. Swallowing down his selfish wants, he whispered, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't make you take a risk that far—"

He stopped in puzzlement when Kenji laughed at him, and he craned his neck to see the man’s humored face.

"I was testing you." Kenji said, and Tooru scowled at him despite not understanding how he was jested.

"Aone permitted me to see the town during sunlight hours twice before. Maybe I could beg him for a third." Kenji smiled, and Tooru felt relieved at that.

"How is this Aone so powerful?" Tooru mused, because it's a wonder how he could give authority to Kenji's escapes.

"Oh, he's favored by the gods unlike me. He's one of the best guards of the palace." Kenji scoffed, but the fond grin he had said otherwise, "He looked a bit lonely one time I saw him at his post so I chatted with him as much as I could until he was forced to be my friend."

"Is that how you befriend people? Talking to them until they have no choice but to consider you as their friend?"

"Oh, hush. He doesn't talk much but I knew he adored me." Kenji brushed him off, and with a raise of his brow, he said, "Which makes him the best accomplice, doesn't it?"

"Sounds like a great man." Tooru offhandedly complimented though there was a bit of a pang of misplaced jealousy in there, but alas, there was a reason.

Kenji mumbled under his breath, "He's the reason why you weren’t impressive."

"Ohh!" Tooru exploded, "So _that's_ how it is?"

Kenji hid his face behind his hand as he continued to laugh at Tooru. He looked shy at what he had admitted out loud, but his posture was also proud and straight as if bragging of his experience. He was an adorable contradiction, and Tooru didn’t know how to respond to it.

Kenji had both been highs and lows. He's one thing and then he's another. Sometimes it frightens Tooru because he found these inconsistencies adorable and exciting at the same time. He would think he'd known Kenji, but he would be surprised about the next thing Kenji reveals to him. It's a fun characteristic of Kenji’s, but what if someday, one of the secrets he kept hidden were something Tooru would have really not been able to expect and defend against?

What then?

"I'll attempt tomorrow before sunset. It would be easier to sneak back in after nightfall." Kenji suggested after Tooru only blinked at him blankly.

Tooru chuckled to himself because as if he was in the position to be suspicious of Kenji’s identity. He's one of the revolutionaries, a warrior fighting against the empire Kenji was serving inside the palace. If anyone's about to harm someone, wouldn't it be himself?

Knowing that, Tooru was able to smile at Kenji, "I have some business in that hour. Must we meet somewhere or shall we let fate help guide you to me in the merchants' streets?"

"Sounds like a plan." Kenji mirrored his smile back, "But if I couldn’t find you in the time you were out there…"

Tooru waited for the last words.

"Don't look for me."

~~~

Tooru was tasked to inspect the sword Kagemori was gifting to an aristocrat that had silently supported them financially when they first lost their ownership over their conquered lands. Kagemori told him they were celebrating an event early, and Tooru would be made aware of it _very_ soon.

He went to the swordsman's place owned by a two meter tall man named Hyakuzawa. Tooru met him quite a few times already and has been intimidated by his towering height before along with his profession, but despite him wielding lethal weapons and forging blades, he was a gentle person. That does not mean he's still kind when he's angered though.

He got in the shop and was greeted warmly. Hyakuzawa was doing the process of _yaki-ire_ when he saw him, the most important and most difficult process of sword making. It's a process of hardening the edge of the blade for it to take and retain the sharpness it was polished into.

Tooru had always adored the process of creating a sword. In fact, he would have liked to acquire a sword himself, but Kagemori hasn't offered to give him one yet or even proposed for him to get one. He guesses that a mere, nameless, orphaned whore was not worthy enough of the blood and sweat which the swordsmiths sacrifice for their craft.

He has a name. He was even graced to be given a family name. But Tooru was still unworthy to be _somebody_.

Once he finished admiring Hyakuzawa's displayed swords and other weapons, he proceeded to say his farewells for him to be able to focus on his handiwork.

He went out into the sun. The sudden bright illumination from inside the shop and into the open space making him wince due to the glare.

He faced the horizon and noticed that the sun was nearing its hour of setting. Nervously, he headed towards the street of merchants. It wasn't a long walk from the smith's shop. He wanted to give Kenji ample enough time to be able to loom around for him so he planned to delay his stroll home by buying fruit, but he was tired that day.

He opted to sit down on a pavement, letting the crowd pass him by. He did not fixate his eyes anywhere as he just sat there, breathing in and out.

He didn't know what caused it. Maybe it was the heat raging from the star up in the heavens, or maybe the distress Kagemori had gone through as the clan’s head had also influenced him in some way.

They were preparing for a battle. The Kambe was busy transporting armors, weapons, and goods for the next huge fight. Tooru has been training again, sparring one man after another. The war must have been getting to him as well.

A shadow fell upon him as a body obstructed the sun's vehement rays from touching him. Then he heard a familiar greeting.

"Hey."

Tooru slowly lifted his head to see who addressed him. He saw a man with dark, earthen colored eyes like the bark of a strong rooted tree, half of his long, autumnal hair that touched his waist were tied up in a bun behind him. His eyes did not gleam like the surfaces of the ground that reflected back the sunlight. The vibrancy in his eyes seemed to exist by swallowing the surrounding rays instead, like he carried the night in them.

"You…" Tooru attempted to blink away the daze that fell upon his vision, "I almost didn't recognize you."

Kenji chuckled, and even his laugh felt and seemed different underneath the heat of the sun. It felt like he wasn't just a ghost of Tooru’s cold nights at the river, like he wasn't just a one night pleasure at the seaside. He might have wanted to meet in the daylight for selfish reasons just like those mentioned, but he's guilty about none of it. He was glad he chose to be shameless if it meant having seen and experienced _this_.

"I have doubted myself if I was right when I saw you too." Kenji grimaced as he gazed at Tooru’s face, "You're even more beautiful in full color."

"Don't flatter me." Tooru disputed without bite, averting hjs eyes away.

Kenji giggled, and it triggered something within Tooru that he hadn't felt before, especially when he heard Kenji say, "Do you blush like that everytime you are complimented?"

"What—" Tooru snapped his head to glare at Kenji, but it was futile as he covered his face with his hands in shame of the blood rushing through his cheeks.

Then he noticed it. Kenji was still snickering to himself, but he, too, has redness at the tips of his ears.

Tooru stood up confidently when he saw it, and he bravely reached to tuck Kenji’s hair behind his ear, letting his fingertip linger longer than it should have at the shell of his ear as he said, "You're flustered."

Kenji's unfocused eyes finally settled to meet Tooru’s after an exhale. Once it did, Tooru instantly felt encapsulated—like he was the only one Kenji sees out of all the clutter and mess of the street filled with merchandise and its buyers.

He did feel like a painting, and he would hate to disrupt the abstract of what Kenji was seeing in him, _whatever_ it was.

Tooru's breaths were shallow, and his heartbeat was racing inside his ears. He could feel the warmth Kenji had boasted about back at the seaside, and it was burning on his fingertips.

He was at a standstill; he was conflicted whether he wanted to stay that way forever or detach himself completely and hide from it.

But then Kenji told him, "It's just a great honor to see an art in full motion with all of its true colors."

Tooru realized that he didn't have to decide for either. That there wasn't a choice to be made. He could just be himself and let Kenji watch. He wasn't a doll, he wasn't just a painting hung upon a wall to be admired in its one sided beauty.

Kenji made him feel like he was art, but _everything_ about him was, and that every part of him was meant to be adored.

~~~

They decided to take a walk away from the sato-dairi. It's better to create distance from the places they were running away from for the meanwhile than to be constantly reminded of the risk they were taking just to have time to go breathe together.

The skies had turned into a dusty color of sakura petals when they passed by a path lined up by withering trees, discarding their dried leaves in preparation for the oncoming winter. Kenjj proposed for them to sit upon the wilted leaves as they waited for the sunset.

Once settled down, Tooru admitted, "I never knew you had such an eye color. It was hard to see in the dark."

Kenji's earth colored lashes fluttered once before his irises aligned with Tooru’s, then he spoke, "There's a lot to see in the daylight, so it seems."

With his interest stimulated, Tooru licked his lips before he asked, "What more did you assume about me?"

Kenji made a nasal sound that seemed to delay him from speaking.

"Were you mostly wrong?" Tooru incited just so that Kenji would respond, and it worked

Kenji puffed an amused sound, then he said, "I had some rights and wrongs."

"Tell me some of it." Tooru requested with a nudge. Kenji let out an embarrassed sigh, but nevertheless indulged his plea.

"Alright, first off, I didn't expect your eyes to be so warm." Kenji stated, and Tooru hummed as he pondered about what he meant.

"The autumnal hue in your eyes; they’re warm, and the sunlight compliments it in a way the moon couldn't." He said, looking at his hands instead of at Tooru, but he waited for him, never taking his eyes off of him.

"I've already thought that they were wonderful under the moonlight, but…" Kenji finally meets his gaze again, though timidly, as he added, "Only now do I realize that the night hid the deeper vividness of it from me."

Kenji smiled at him, and it was genuine. A soft, small smile upon his lips, and his eyes were both glad and grateful, "There's much more to you than what I've seen during the time I've watched you walk along the river, and I'm thankful I've got to know some of it after you let me in."

Tooru was the one to look away after that. He stayed silent and closed his eyes. He then leaned his head back onto the tree trunk and inhaled deeply.

A moment passed as the wind bristled through the leaves on the ground, then along with the peaceful quietness of it was Kenji, innocently asking, "Did I say something wrong?"

Tooru chuckled, still with his eyes closed, he said, "The opposite of it. You have made me realize something that I couldn't comprehend why before."

There were rustling, and Kenji’s voice grew closer as he leaned onto the trunk Tooru was leaning onto as well.

"What was it?" He asked.

With another breath of air, one that filled his lungs beautifully as if he hasn't been able to before, he answered, "You were the first one I let in on my own."

Tooru opened his eyes, and he saw streaks of light come in rays from the tiny openings between the trees' leaves above their heads.

"You were the first person that asked if you could." Tooru said, leaning his head to the side to see Kenji that was positioned right beside him, "I'm grateful for that."

There was hesitation when Kenji raised his hand, and Tooru wondered what he was about to do, but when he realized, Tooru himself met the other’s hand and clasped it in his.

With a fond giggle, he said, "You were also the first man to reject me when I offered to suck you off."

Kenji choked on his laughter, bowing his forward and hacking some coughs as he most likely did not expect Tooru to say such a thing during a conversation like that. Tooru found the spectacle amusing, but he felt Kenji’s hand tighten its grip on his, and he just knew that there was something about this.

Something good. Something he's unworthy of. Something he won't be able to keep.

Once Kenji recovered, he leaned back onto the tree trunk, but this time, closer to Tooru, perfectly side by side, and if Tooru would have been able to stop the world and just stay there with him in that false pretense of _something_ finally being good to him, he would have.

"If you could run away with me…" Tooru started but stopped himself from saying anything more. These are hopeless dreams, just empty words.

He closed his eyes again to avoid seeing Kenji’s face.

Then as a sign, Kenji tightened his clutch on Tooru’s hand for a moment, then he said with an ache in his voice, "I wish we could."

~~~

Tooru couldn’t really remember how it happened. Suddenly, one of them was able to convince the other to enter a _ryokan_ once the night had fallen. He handled the payment for the inn, and he was quivering as he handed the gold, which was not something of his character.

He's used to this, was even his work for years and years, but something about Kenji made him unsure and slightly insecure of himself.

As they entered the room, Tooru’s hands were completely cold and shivering, so he turned on his heel to face Kenji before they slid the door close to say, "Have you thoroughly thought about this?"

Kenji seemed surprised, "What’s the matter? Do you not want this?"

"No." Tooru stopped and looked on the ground, "I'm just making sure you’re very _certain_ about this."

Kenji smirked, "It would seem that you aren't. We can go if you want to."

Tooru sighed, not wanting to bare his worries fully, but there was nothing he could do except to state his conflict.

"I was once a whore." He said, firmly.

Kenji was only quiet, still standing at the door frame, wondering if he could let his other foot cross the line.

Tooru evened out his breath as he stood there, and that's when Kenji decided to shut the door close and take gentle strides towards Tooru’s figure.

He carefully reached for Tooru’s face, brushing his hair away from his cheeks and eyes. Tooru thought it would not help, calm him down, that he would be more agitated by it, but his breathing slowed further, and the uncomfortable electricity beneath his skin was being chased away by Kenji’s subtle touches. His anxiety dissipated the more that their breaths became closer to each other.

"And what of it?" Kenji whispered against Tooru’s bowed forehead. He then straightened Tooru’s posture and demanded for him to meet his gaze before he added, "All I see in front of me is a gorgeous man with an amazing personality that I've dreamt about kissing even just for one more time."

Tooru released a shaky exhale, then he brought his hands up to cup the other’s neck, looking him straight in the eyes as he called him.

"Kenji." He said, and for the first time he saw something gleam in the other’s eyes, a sparkle of delight.

"It's the first time you've said my name with such a tone." Kenji said, the curve of his lips growing as he leaned in closer, "I like the sound of it."

"Kenji." Tooru repeated, and in his chest he felt the heaviness of what it meant to say his name. The yearning, the longing, the need and the want.

He's been touched way too many times before. Had experienced different ways and various treatments, but Kenji made him crave for this, as if he hasn't been given any before. Maybe that was true. Maybe he hasn't had it yet, whatever _it_ was.

Kenji was someone he thought he'd known already, but the truth is that Kenji was nothing he's ever known before.

They kept the candles inside the room set aflame, and it was different than when they had the sound of the waves accompany their tiny huffs and takes of breaths in the dark.

This time it was all them; Tooru, Kenji, their skin, their bodies, their noises, their voices. It was their own kind of sea that Tooru wanted to explore for a long period of time even if it could mean drowning at the expanse of it.

~~~

_"This might sound foolish, but do you know what love is?" Kenji shyly asked._

_"Hmm. Maybe."_

_"I was wondering if this was it."_

_A pause, then, "Maybe."_

_"It might be because of the circumstances, but right now, at this moment, I think I know what it is."_

_"You think you love me?"_

_"Maybe."_

_"Do you think I feel the same way?"_

_A light laugh, then, "Maybe."_

~~~

All the hours spent with Kenji were a fantasy Tooru did not want to wake up from. Whenever they get to meet, he never wants to leave nor go back to where he was supposed to be, but he has sworn his oath. He had made a promise.

Then like a knife that cut the veil from his eyes, a hugely important battle against the empirical military was commenced, and Tooru was invited to be in the frontlines together with Kagemori. He did feel the honor and gratefulness that he was finally being seen as worthy of the name he was endowed with. Perhaps all of the years he had endured were finally coming to fruition.

The major part of the rebellion was a huge success. They were able to take down the greatest and mightiest fleet of the country and had handpicked the valiant, elite samurai of the emperor to be forced on their knees before them as they were held captive.

During the execution of these men, Tooru was made to watch beside Kagemori along with the high ranking nobles of the Kambe clan. Heads of the empire’s warriors kept falling onto the ground with an unpleasant sound as they were decapitated.

It made Tooru’s stomach churn, but he couldn’t lean over and release the contents of his stomach because such a disgraceful act would bring him and Kagemori shame. He had to be stone cold as he willed himself to look straight ahead at the captives. He had to convince the ones watching that he was worthy of the name.

He could feel his breathing steadying, but then one of the warriors looked directly back at him.

Tooru held his breath as he was held in place by the simple stare of a bloody, olive eyed man.

He was Ushijima no Wakatoshi; the empire’s hero, their mightiest and finest warrior.

Kagemori seemed to take notice of the tension in Tooru’s stance because he inspected him and the leader of the country’s warriors with a scrutinizing eye. After the headhunter chopped down the right hand man named Tendou no Satori, Kagemori proposed for Tooru to kill Ushijima no Wakatoshi.

There was a low volume of agitation among the crowd as they whispered to themselves. After all, the clan’s outsider was being given a tall order by their commander when he was meant to be irrelevant to the cause.

“Prove yourself to me.” Kagemori told him with strict jet-black eyes and a harsh tone in his rumbling voice, handing Tooru his own katana as an order to slay the last surviving hope of the empire.

Tooru grasped the sword’s hilt naturally like he was simply in training. Emotionlessly, he strode towards the strongest soldier and stood beside him.

Olive eyes met his brown ones and in them, Tooru almost saw nothing in it.

Blinking softly, the supposed strongest warrior spoke in a soft but resonating voice.

“Do you believe in what you’re fighting for?”

His jaw clenched. His breath hitched. His muscles tightened.

Then just like he was made to practice hundreds of times, he cleanly decapitated Ushijima no Wakatoshi.

With a shaky breath and adrenaline rush making his heartbeat aching and speedy inside his chest, he was experiencing some sort of _twisted_ , euphoric feeling. He let himself get consumed by that euphoria, he let it seep into his veins and be conveyed with the look on his face because he could not show conscience or regret. He could not show hesitance or second thoughts.

He was able to kill for Kagemori. He has proven that by now, and that's what mattered.

When Tooru looked back at Kagemori, he was smiling proudly at him, and when he mirrored it back, he was able to perfectly fake it that he was applauded by the audience for his great work.

Basking in the cheers of his fellow men, Tooru remembers the prophecy given to him by a strange, old woman from years ago.

She told him that there would be two sides presented to him, and to decide his future, it would depend on who he chooses to brandish his weapon towards to slay them.

Tooru exhaled a quivering breath.

Was this his prophecy?

~~~

As a forewarning to the empire, the heads of Ushijima Wakatoshi along with his right hand man, Tendou Satori were stabbed onto stakes and planted in front of the main palace's front walls, threatening the emperor to bow down to the Kambe clan.

They gave the palace a period wherein they can peacefully surrender instead of a civil war, and within that time, they conquered the remaining cities that withheld from being governed by the Kambe.

The capital was filled with great tension. The guards were stricter, the security was heightened, the impending chaos was evident even in the stillness of the air.

Tooru hadn't been at the river for days because of the situation, but when he did visit for continuous nights, he still hadn't seen Kenji. He was growing worried, but he also thought that it must be harder to escape from the sato-dairi due to the danger to the throne.

One day, Kagemori summoned him to brief him about the attack on the imperial palace. It was to be commenced before the sun was right up above the sky at the Hour of the Snake. They were to invade the palace and slay every single blood relative of the emperor except for his newly born son to force him into a surrender.

That night, Tooru hurried to the river. He needed to see Kenji, and he had something to say, and as if the universe was _once_ on his side, Kenji did appear.

"Tooru." Kenji called out in a hurry.

Tooru was quick to meet him halfway and hold his hand, "Listen." He said, demanding for Kenji to faithfully lend him his ears, and after a nod, he said, "You should escape tomorrow morning."

"What do you mean?" Kenji asked, confusion evident in the way his eyes wrinkled in inquiry.

"The Kambe clan are moving for an attack in the palace on the Hour of the Snake. The guards would be lessened in the sato-dairi. You would have plenty of time to run away by then." Tooru explained in a rush, swinging his head side to side in vigilance from anyone who could pose danger to the two of them.

"And how do you know this?" Kenji murmured, and Tooru could hear the underlying suspicion in the tone of his voice. It hurt to see how his status of living affected them as easily as that, but there was no going back, therefore, he opted to come clean.

"I was saved by Kambe no Kagemori." Tooru confessed, and the widened eyes Kenji regarded him with were heavy on his skin, as if it could shed off all the layers he built on top of each other just to hide this filthy side of him.

"And?" Kenji asked, prompting Tooru to tell his sins right then and there.

"I'm the one who beheaded Ushijima—"

He felt Kenji's hold on his hand loosen, and Tooru let them fall carelessly once Kenji fully let go of it.

"Tooru." Kenji calmly called, and it triggered guilt to creep into Tooru’s heart.

"Have you ever lied to me?" Kenji asked in the same eerie calm tone. It made goosebumps appear on Tooru’s skin, and his chest rumbled with a feeling he couldn't explain. It was a mix of emotions, and it made him feel nauseous.

"I haven't." He croaked, and it was the truth. He never lied, but he didn't say his whole truth, so he asked Kenji back, "Have you?"

Tooru saw him shake his head, "But there are times that I did only say half truths."

"Why not tell me everything now?" Tooru asked, but even with his own ears, he sounded like he begged.

"It’s better if you don't know." Kenji whispered, taking a step backwards, away from Tooru, "You have already chosen your side."

"Kenji—"

"Don't." He interrupted, raising a hand up to prevent Tooru from speaking, "Don't speak one more word."

Tooru released a hasty breath, "Kenji, listen." He pleaded, but it was obvious Kenji wasn't having it, and yet he continued to speak, "I'll be there, then. We'll run away. I'll be with you. I'll wait for you outside and we could make our escape—"

"Tooru." Kenji spoke. Monotonous and devoid of the emotions he used to have when he utters his name.

Tooru’s breath hitched with his lips still open to say his next words, but he couldn’t anymore. He couldn’t even take a step forward towards Kenji. He knew he didn't have the permission to anymore. He stayed still, the space between him and Kenji was heartbreaking to look at as he knew he couldn't do anything to bridge the gap anymore.

"When I asked you not to speak, I was doing it for you." Kenji whispered with a shudder in his voice—a blend of sadness, disappointment, and anger.

Kenji exhaled, "You should've stayed as an honest man."

Tooru was desperate, so he attempted once more, "Kenji, please—"

"No matter what happens tomorrow…" Kenji cut him off, an authoritative and decisive tone in his voice, the first time he ever did with Tooru, then he said, "Don't come and try to find me.

Tooru defeatedly sighed and stared at Kenji's blank eyes, listening to his last words before he left without even looking back.

"Don't look for me, Tooru. Spare me the pain."

~~~

When he got home, Kagemori was waiting for him inside their room, drinking _sake_ , and he greeted Tooru with a soft smile, "Couldn't sleep?"

Tooru was tired. Emotionally and physically. He had no energy to keep up his image as the perfect loyal dog he was to Kagemori, but he needed to be one.

He nodded as an answer, "The anticipation for tomorrow is getting on my nerves."

"Come join me." Kagemori motioned, and Tooru obliged. He sat across him and waited for him to serve him his shot of _sake_.

He gladly took the alcohol down into his throat because god knows he needed it to calm himself.

"That was a short stroll." Kagemori said, but the words were muffled in his head.

"Yeah." He slurred, but his eyelids were becoming heavy, and his body was becoming hard to keep upright. He felt a quick sense of serenity, and when he blinked to get rid of the blur in his vision, he blacked out instead

~~~

Tooru woke up in a jerking motion. He looked outside and saw the sun had risen way too high above their heads. Kagemori was nowhere in sight and neither were the other warriors.

He clothed himself in his suikan and hakama before he grabbed his tantō. He dashed out of the room and hurried to the next person he saw in the property to know what had just happened.

A lady servant informed him that the warriors had swiftly seized the inner palace and was currently raiding the sato-dairi as well.

 _Kenji_. That was his first thought.

Tooru bolted towards the stables to fetch Miyako and charged towards the secondary palace in full speed.

He arrived there and saw quite a few fallen warriors, but it wasn't a battlefield anymore. It was just a yard field with perished individuals. He saw some servants being directed by the Kambe warriors back into their shelters, but he needed to look for a soldier of the empire.

One man who was barely breathing caught his attention. He was wearing the armor embellished with the empire’s crest, so Tooru galloped close to him and spoke, "Do you know a man named Aone?"

He supposed that Aone would know where Kenji was, and since it was mentioned that he was one of the best guards of the sato-dairi, Kenji expected him to have a high chance of survival.

The soldier pointed towards a building wordlessly, and when Tooru followed his gaze, he saw Kagemori’s horse right outside along with the horses of other high officials.

Tooru's guts wrenched into itself and a dreadful feeling attached itself into the crevices of his ribcage, suffocating his lungs.

He galloped towards the building, and the doors were fully slid open for him to see what was happening inside.

What he saw fractured his optimism and shattered his heart.

Kagemori was there along with his two brothers. There was a bloodied man wearing full armor at the side, then there was a woman dressed in luxurious layers of silk, kneeling beside another person dressed in a noble pair of karinigu and sashinuki, his hair in a clean bun atop his head, adorned with a headpiece.

It was Kenji, kneeling beside the empress, at the mercy of the Kambe family.

"Oh! Tooru! Have you had a good rest?" Kagemori cheerily called. All the other individuals inside the room regarded his existence, but none of it mattered except Kenji’s eyes on him.

He was looked at for a swift moment by Kenji, and when displeasure took over his features, he averted his eyes as if he just saw something unforgivably vile.

Tooru wanted to curl and hide.

"We have been waiting for you, dear. You're one of the keys to our victory after all." Kagemori stated, gesturing his hands widely as if to welcome him inside.

He dismounted from his horse before he asked, "What does that mean? You purposely drugged me to leave me behind."

"Ah, that was a preventive measure in case you decided to rescue your caged bird." Kagemori sang as he nodded towards Kenji’s direction, "Surely you knew that your night escapades didn't went by unnoticed?"

Tooru bit his tongue. He remembered the eyes he felt on him when he went out to the sea with Kenji; he felt somebody's presence up until they entered the forest. That must have been one of Kagemori’s underlings.

"How does he relate to all of this?" Tooru asked, and he was scared to hear the answer to it. Terrified that he may have really known nothing, not even half truths.

Kenji said he was a loyal servant to the king, but how can a mere servant be wearing such expensive fabric for his robes?

"You're telling me you didn’t know him at all?" Kagemori exclaimed with an accusing tone, "Well, if that's true then you aren't a traitor yet."

"Traitor?" Tooru hissed, because how could his association with Kenji lead to becoming a traitor?

Kagemori laughed loudly, a rumble that chilled his spine, "It's comical how pathetic this situation is."

He pointed a finger straight towards Kenji, but what he said after perplexed Tooru completely.

"That man is Futakuchi no Kenji, the son of the emperor born by the empress, hidden from the public to protect him due to his congenitally weak heart." Kagemori claimed, which was something unbelievable. Tooru spent so much time with Kenji, how could he have missed something so important?

Tooru faced Kenji, and the guilt on his face was an answer enough for Tooru.

He was barely given half of the truth. In fact, it never would have made sense if it wasn't revealed by Kagemori like this.

"Now, you see. I have already slain the emperor. We also have full control over the central court by having authority on the youngest son." Kagemori talked as he stepped close to Tooru, "But we heard from the servants that the empress is bearing a child in her womb right now."

Kagemori smirked, and Tooru knew what was to come. A hand gripped his jaw, and it pulled upwards to forcibly make him meet Kagemori’s gaze. Tooru swallowed as Kagemori muttered close to his face, "We should eliminate all those with potential of taking the throne, don't you think, Tooru?"

Harshly, Kagemori hurled him sideways as he released his grip on his jaw, "Kill her, if you're still a Kambe."

"No!" Kenji repulsed, planting a foot on the ground to stand up, but one of the other men in the room was swift to point his sword towards him. He stopped in a snap and went back to his kneeling position, then he pleaded, "Please pardon my mother and the child in her womb. We still don't know the gender—"

"And if it comes out as a boy?" Kagemori preached, looking down on Kenji, "Wouldn't it be better to dirty one's hands in one slice rather than twice?"

Tooru bowed his head and looked at his feet, scratching the side of his thumbs' nails as he anxiously waited for Kagemori to order him again.

"Tooru." He called, and just like a devoted servant, he perked up and held his head up high.

"Yes?" He voiced, ready to put his command into action.

"Slice the empress's neck."

As if he was hypnotized, he strode his way towards the woman who silently reprimanded her son who was attempting to save her life. She was beautiful, and Tooru admired the strength she had in her not to utter a single word even as he brandished her knife and held it against her slim neck.

Kenji begged from the side, blabbering words aimed at Tooru and the empress, "Mother! No, Tooru. You're _killing_ a _child_ with her."

But Tooru had learned to fade out the background noise he didn’t need to complete a task. He could hear Kenji before, but his pleads of agony slowly faded away as he took deep breaths while he steadied his grip on his tantō.

Counting in his head, Tooru deepened the knife's blade into her soft flesh and swung his arm towards the other side, conclusively slashing her throat open.

The noises started to come rushing back in as the gush of her blood spurted into his white hakama. He heard her guttural chokes as her head dropped heavily onto the floorboards. She shook violently as she suffered through the blood loss, and Kenji's pained screams of rage pierced through Tooru’s ears and into his conscience.

It was one, long, cry of grief. Then silence.

Tooru closed his eyes, feeling that same twisted euphoria he felt when he beheaded a mighty warrior. He let him get swept off of his feet by the thrum of his heartbeat against his chest.

Kenji was right. He shouldn't have looked for him. He should have stayed as an honest man instead, because Kenji was right.

He had already picked his side.

He knew he wasn't going back from this.

"Good." Kagemori complimented him as he surveyed the empress's limp body, "Now, kill him next."

"Understood." Tooru answered dutifully without letting his emotions show.

He faced Kenji, and the man was not even looking at him. Tooru supposed that was for the better, because if those eyes regarded him as anything less than a human being, he might just lose his pride and hope for himself.

"Pierce through his heart this time." Kagemori's voice rang from behind him, and Tooru's limbs became stoned as he listened to more of his orders, "Do not take out your knife until he breathed his last breath."

"I... understand." Tooru said, impulsively kneeling in front of Kenji to meet him eye to eye.

The other still hadn't let his eyes meet Tooru’s, but they were so close to each other that they could fall into each other's embrace like they did before they knew each other's truths.

Tooru didn’t know why he kneeled. Was it to ask for forgiveness? For penitence? For closure?

Whichever it was that his mind reasoned, he found himself in that position—his hands cold and trembling, his jaw gritted to stop his lips from quivering, his eyes finding difficulty in focusing, and his mind blank but overflowing at the same time.

_Ken—_

He thought, he mouthed, he desperately wanted to say, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t let himself say it so casually.

He shouldn't have let him in. Shouldn't have entertained him. Shouldn't have gotten to know him.

If they hadn't met and reached out to one another, would they have avoided this? Would they have prevented this from happening? Would they have had better endings? Or were they truly fated to be positioned right in front of one another; one holding a weapon, and the other waiting to be killed?

Was this what the universe had planned for them?

Clenching his bloodied knife inside his palms, he pointed the tip of its sharp blade upon the upper left side of Kenji’s chest. He wanted to say something, to warn him, to tell him he’s doing it, to utter his goodbyes, to ask for forgiveness, to fight him even, but all of it would be useless. Words do not matter between them anymore, only actions would be relevant for this situation, and his hesitancy was not doing the both of them any good at all.

In an abrupt manner, Tooru sunk the knife into Kenji’s heart and kept it in place as Kenji surged forward towards him with a gasp, his forehead laying down on Tooru’s shoulder.

Kenji felt like a tidal wave, crashing onto Tooru, effectively pulling him under his current and enveloping all of him with his essence.

A spot of blood started to grow from where the knife was plunged through Kenji’s pure white karinigu, and Tooru bore his eyes upon it, insistent on observing how far it would go until Kenji’s body gave up.

Tooru could feel his warmth even though they were barely even touching. He wanted to collect him into an embrace, to cradle him in his arms as the life slowly slipped out of him.

Unexpectedly, Tooru heard Kenji huff a chuckle, and immediately he said, “ _Fool_.”

Kenji lifted his head up, and Tooru waited with anticipating eyes to see Kenji’s face once more.

He was smiling—condescending and forlorn at the same time. His autumnal eyes were murky, veiled with strong emotions even Tooru did not want to understand.

Kenji brought a hand to place upon the side of Tooru’s neck, patting it as he said, “We’re _such_ fools.”

With his other hand, he clasped Tooru’s hands placed around the hilt of his knife in his and thrusted the blade deeper into himself. Tooru opened his mouth to retaliate, to reprimand him, but Kenji compressed his hold on Tooru’s nape, speaking his final command for Tooru.

“Don’t dare to weep, Tooru.”

Those were his last words before he closed his eyes and peacefully went to sleep.

Tooru stayed in that position for longer than he was ordained. He waited for the moment that Kenji’s warmth was replaced by a salient coldness.

He did what he was told to do.

Tooru never shed a single tear.

~~~

_“There are two sides, young man.” The old lady priestess had suddenly spoken as he passed by the shrine, “One would be of the gods, and the other would be claiming he is_ with _the gods.”_

_Her next words generated an army of tiny, invisible insects under his skin, and it continued to do so even in memory._

_“Whom will you betray and point your knife towards,_ Tooru _? Would you be able to stand by your choice?”_

He didn’t in the end.

While he was surrounded by darkness that was barely contrasted by the flickering flames of the candles that hung on the walls, he knelt at the center of _Yomi-no-Kuni’s_ Judgement Chamber. He felt the unforgiving coldness of the black tiles seep into his skin and into his bones. He did not feel fear as he faced _Yomotsu Ōkami_ , the deity ruling over the Land of Darkness, because he only felt acceptance.

 _Oikawa no Tooru._ Apparently, _Oikawa_ was his surname. He was identified with it by the grim reaper that brought him along to this place, and was called that again as he was judged. He only had his surname. His parents never bothered to give him a name.

A scroll containing the judgement upon him was read by an attendant, reciting that the supreme beings bestowed him an excruciating life of never achieving the bliss of forgetting his past, his mistakes, his hurt, his guilt, and his wrong doings.

He chose to side with the blasphemous clan of the Kambe which led him to kill and betray a direct descendant of their highest god, Amaterasu, and instead of living his life carrying the guilt of taking the life of someone important to him, he took the easy route and ended himself as well.

He hoped for a clean slate. He thought he would be able to restart once again if he had hung himself to death, but he wasn’t given that. Amaterasu was not as merciful.

He spent 800 years basked in nothing but misery and anguish. After 200 years of attempting to heal, he was thrown back into the modern living world to serve the last man he stabbed his knife into.

 _The gods do not know mercy_.

—

Oikawa was outside, sitting at the edge of the fountain Futakuchi had claimed that he sculpted himself. The rain Oikawa was creating due to his mood was still pouring heavily all over the base even when the sun was about to set, and there he was sat at the center of it all, drenched to the bone, unminding everything else except the droplets on his skin.

He remembers everything. He _thinks_ he does, but his past was only seen through his eyes, interpreted by his own mind, felt by his own heart—what if his memories were wrong? What if he romanticized it too much so that he could bear it better after being put through hell for years? Could he even trust his own mind?

“Hey.” Futakuchi greeted as the _sake_ shop's back door opened, and Oikawa groaned under his breath because, _god_ , Futakuchi never grew out that pompous greeting of his.

As Futakuchi came closer to him, he stopped feeling raindrops on his skin and so he thought the rain he made had come to a halt, but no, it was an umbrella above his head made out of Futakuchi’s flames.

“You okay?” Futakuchi asked him as he knelt on one knee in front of Oikawa, his eyes were filled with concern but he still had a playful grin on his face.

Oikawa stared at him. It’s the same face he had a millenia ago. He had the same lofty smirk, the same dark chocolate eyes, and the same smooth, flat brown hair but way shorter than the one in his memories.

“If I could make thunder, it would have been roaring through the skies by now.” Oikawa managed to jest with a small smile, and before Futakuchi prodded more into his unsightly emotions, he changed the topic, “How is your fire not going out in the rain? This water is from the Sanzu river.”

It was effective since Kenji huffed a surprised laugh. He then placed a hand near Oikawa’s lap, steadying his posture before he said, “I guess you do make me stronger.”

“Sounds romantic.” Oikawa mocked with a grossed out tone, but deep inside he was aching; aching that if only they met in a different timeline, if they only met now with fresh memories, if only they didn’t have that kind of history, everything would have been alright.

“I could have done better if I was aiming to be romantic.” Futakuchi winked with a boastful grin, and Oikawa stopped himself from giggling fondly and saying he knows the poetic side of him a bit too well.

It must have been the atmosphere brought upon by the rain. It must have been because his fingertips were colder than when he was alive and Futakuchi was warmer than the last time he touched him a thousand years ago, but he wasn’t able to stop himself from carding his hands through Futakuchi’s hair and lightly scratching on his scalp with his fingernails.

After all those centuries, he still craved for his touch.

Futakuchi made a snorting sound with an arrogant pout, “You want to kiss me so bad.”

 _Yes_ . Oikawa sighed. _Desperately_. He thought as he let his hand fall down from Futakuchi’s hair as if touching the ghost of his long locks.

“May I?” He asked, a cascading boldness from feeling empty made him say.

Futakuchi looked surprised, but his lips fell into a pleased expression, and Oikawa knew he wasn’t going to say _no_. Relief swelled inside his chest, but at the back of his mind there was a gnawing pain that would never be relieved.

“It’s not as hot if we were just arguing, but alright.” Futakuchi permitted him with high spirits, the inflection in his words that Oikawa found himself growing fond with awakened the insects he kept underneath his skin. He felt electrified.

He cupped Futakuchi’s face, decided that he would kiss the man for sure even though he feels like he’s taking advantage of Futakuchi and him having no memories. Yes, he probably is just finding to benefit himself with these circumstances, but that’s been his whole life. He’s sinned time and time again, but ones he committed while still in a dream aren’t sins yet until he wakes up or once it turns into a nightmare.

So he leaned down with his eyes open, watching as Futakuchi’s dark and full lashes fan over his cheeks in wait for their lips to connect.

Oikawa’s chest was about to explode into a sanguinary mess—complete with his blood, tissues, bone, and organs. He was terrified, but at the same time thirsty for Futakuchi’s warmth.

Ignoring his apprehensive fright, he let his lips touch Futakuchi’s, and it was just like a thousand years ago.

A fantasy. Something too good for him to be worthy of having received. A nostalgic feeling, and it must have been his imagination when he tasted the sea in Futakuchi’s mouth.

While he kissed Futakuchi, it felt like he was breathing back the air which his lung lost from so long ago.

While Futakuchi kissed back, it felt like a drug being engraved into his being, taking him higher and higher and higher. He knew he should limit himself, but he’d rather not.

He already knows how this all would end anyway.

—

This time, Oikawa knew it was his fault that they ended up inside the minka house. He knew it was him who initiated to get inside his bedroom. He was absolute with his decision when he lured Futakuchi into his bed, entangling their limbs together.

“How do you propose we do this?” Futakuchi asked as he laid comfortably on the bed while Oikawa looked for whatever he could find as lubricant inside his drawer, also unsure of the answer, but Futakuchi, as he usually does, decided for them, “You’ve been _celibate_ for too long, no? I think it would be better if I take it.”

Oikawa paused as he hovered on top of Futakuchi, his hand, still in the closet, clutching a bottle of lube tightly, “You sure?”

Futakuchi scoffed, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Oikawa held his breath, because if he didn’t, he might have just turned his bed into a confessional instead, so he shook his head and shrugged, “Nothing.”

The prep was quick, or rather, Futakuchi was quick to undress _and_ prep himself. Oikawa felt like he just blinked while he was removing his clothes and all of a sudden the younger was all ready for Oikawa to enter him. It might be the gap of how sex was a thousand years ago and the sex of today, but it was a whiplash for Oikawa.

When Futakuchi rested his head back down on the pillow, Oikawa made his move and shifted forwards, placing a hand beside Futakuchi’s head and his other hand clutching his waist. His voice failed him when he asked, “May I?’

Futakuchi exploded into laughter, “You were sexy just now but it’s obvious you were a _virgin_ for centuries.”

Oikawa felt shamed by that, but then Futakuchi left a swift, chaste kiss on his lips and whispered, “It’s cute. You can just take it slow.”

Still stiff and awkward, Oikawa nodded. He wasn’t sure what to do next, but Futakuchi’s luscious lips were right in front of him and he couldn’t hold himself back so he dove in and mouthed him again. It seemed to be the right action to take because Futakuchi made a satisfied hum as he kissed back, which was encouraging enough to let Futakuchi grasp his manhood and guide him inside.

Oikawa parted from the kiss as he needed to push through the tight entrance, but once that was done, it was an easy slide in. As he bottomed out, he brought his gaze from where they were connected and up to see Futakuchi’s face.

He was a bit flushed, his mouth parted, his breaths careful.

 _Beautiful_.

“You’re staring.” Futakuchi muttered when he met Oikawa’s eyes.

Shamelessly, Oikawa brushed away the strands of hair on Futakuchi’s face and said, “Why do you think I want to fuck you in this position?”

Futakuchi chuckled, but the redness at the tip of his ears deepened, moreso when he said, “Am I that pretty for you?”

“Maybe.” Oikawa half-heartedly said, because the real answer was _yes_ , but instead of admitting that, he swung his hips once to test it out, and when Futakuchi moaned and chuckled in amusement after, he knew he could continue.

Oikawa carefully leaned down towards Futakuchi once again for another kiss. The sex doesn’t even matter to him, as long as he could kiss Futakuchi more, longer, harder, he would be glad to take all of it. He gradually then picked up his pace, and though Futakuchi was huffing in pleasure, Oikawa himself wasn’t in any kind of bliss. All he held onto were their kisses and Futakuchi’s soft noises, his voice, his smell, his sweat, his skin. He just wanted to have all of it, even just for a short moment.

“Hey, hey.” Futakuchi warned once Oikawa got to a faster pace, “You’re going _too_ fast. Slow down, Oikawa-san.”

Oikawa didn’t. His guilt was continuously running behind his back, and if he slows down even just a bit, who knows what would happen once he gets caught?

“Oikawa-san—” Futakuchi groaned, squeezing his arms to demand attention, but Oikawa still didn’t listen.

“Okay.” Futakuchi said, placing a hand on Oikawa’s chest as a warning while he said, “Can you pull out for now?”

Oikawa finally did what he was told, then sitting back on his knees as he asked, “Why? Was it—” He paused, because the embarrassment kicked in.

“No, no. It’s just—” Futakuchi was going to explain, but something else caught his attention and made him forget what he was saying midway.

“You have a scar.” He stated, which was the obvious, and it was alien to Oikawa. A thousand years ago, Futakuchi didn’t mind his scar.

With his heart pumping inside his chest, wondering if the Futakuchi he knew before and the present should be treated as the same person or as two different people, he answered, “Yes."

“How long ago?” Futakuchi inquired as he inspected the branding with his eyes.

“Too long ago.” Oikawa avoided.

“Do you still remember how it hurt?”

He paused, then with a grimace, he said, “Yes.”

Silently, Futakuchi asked, “Does it still hurt?’

Oikawa smiled, “Maybe.”

Dark, earthen eyes connected with Oikawa’s warm ones, and it was just like the first time they met eyes under the daylight—Oikawa was caged in his perspective, voluntarily locked inside his eyes.

Futakuchi blinked and released him, then he heard him say, “Okay, lie down.”

“Why—” Oikawa meant to ask, but even before he finished his question, he was being shoved into his mattress, forced to lie on his naked back.

He was going to speak again, but Futakuchi shut him up with a kiss; a gentle caress of tongue and lips. Oikawa melted into it, but as soon as he kissed back to deepen it, Futakuchi was moving on to his neck.

He’s not sure how Futakuchi does it, but he knew exactly where to lay his lips down. How to suck, how to nip, how to bite, it was like deep in his subconscious, he knew he had done some of these before already.

Futakuchi didn’t stop at his neck, he lowered it down to his chest, wetted his buds with a warm tongue and tugged it with his teeth.

Then lower, near his groin, at the portion of his hips where an emblem was once burned deep into the layers of his skin. When Kenji placed his closed lips against the scar and stayed there for some seconds, that was the time Oikawa felt something in his belly build up. He felt his breath hitch when he watched Futakuchi dart his tongue out to lick the embossed edges of the burn mark. He keened at Futakuchi’s kiss as he mouthed around the branding.

“Futakuchi—” He moaned, raising a hand to brush the other’s hair, but Futakuchi didn’t notice it, he was focused on kissing his scar.

“Futakuchi, what are you doing?”

Oikawa felt a smile form on Futakuchi’s lips against the risen skin on his hip. When Futakuchi lifted his head up to look straight back at Oikawa, he said, “Kissing it better.”

There was a comfortable pause in the air that meant appreciation for the humor, and then Oikawa stupidly stated, “My lips hurt.”

Futakuchi crawled back up as he chuckled, deep, fond, and enthusiastic, then he said, “ _Fool_.”

Oikawa felt a pang in his heart at that remark, but he accepted it as he welcomed Futakuchi into his waiting arms, clutching him close, caging him in, capturing his warmth, then he smiled as he said a cheesy line he knew would make Futaluchi’s nose scrunch in disgust.

“Only for you.”

—

_"Do you love me?"_

_A chuckle, "What are you talking about?"_

_"Just answer me."_

_"Oikawa-san, we have an eternity before us. There's plenty of time to fall in love with each other."_

_"That’s not an answer."_

_"Well, could you answer that yourself?"_

_A pause, then, "Maybe."_

_"What’s your answer then?"_

_A longer pause._

_"Maybe."_

—

Oikawa woke up at who-knows-what-hour in a bed with fresh mattresses, blankets and pillow covers. Along with it came a still naked Futakuchi, to which he clung onto in order to fend off the cold.

Futakuchi has become so warm, and Oikawa has turned so cold. It’s funny how even after years spent in Mugen Jigoku, drenched in flames, he still craved Futakuchi's heat.

Straining his eyes to adjust and navigate the dark surroundings, he reached for his mobile and pressed a button, angling it away from his face so as to not blind himself. It lit alive, and when he noticed the date, he realized something again.

 _3:11 pm. The 9th of November_.

Tomorrow would be Futakuchi’s birthday.

Then suddenly, all the lights inside Tooru’s room were switched open, and a presence was right inside with them.

Oikawa squinted through the unexpected glare of artificial lights upon his retina, and when he found the magical culprit of it all, he glared.

It was Iwaizumi Hajime. He’s a man of morals, but during emergencies, his view of boundaries seems to blur a bit too much for an emmetrope.

Iwaizumi was silent as he inspected their nude bodies underneath the blanket. He raised his brows, looking surprised but also like he had foreseen this happening already as he said, “About time."

Oikawa, despite knowing that there was an urgent case that caused Iwaizumi to visit them at an _ungodly_ hour, nestled himself back to his bed and spooned Futakuchi. Invitingly like he was asking a client of his a millennia ago, he told Iwaizumi, “You wanna come to bed?”

“Once I get permission from Akaashi. But for now...” He hurriedly said, and before Oikawa could even react, Iwaizumi loudened his voice to wake both of them up, “Get your nakes asses out of bed! I have to tell you something!”

Futakuchi stirred, and when Iwaizumi knew Oikawa was wide awake enough to drag Futakuchi out of bed, he left the room after saying he would wait at the _sake_ shop.

“Wha— Did I hear Iwaizumi?” Futakuchi slurred, his voice still laced with tiredness and desire for sleep.

Oikawa was stunned in place. He couldn’t fathom the look on Iwaizumi’s eyes when he acknowledged the two of them together. He saw his eyes stare at them with _context_.

It was like he _knew_ something.

Oikawa doesn’t like this.

—

Oikawa did have to haul Futakuchi’s body along with him to the shop. The man _sleeps_ like a log. He hurled him to a chair across Iwaizumi and sat beside him to keep watch.

“I’m sorry. I know I said I’ll visit next time to catch up, but I’ll cut to the chase.” Iwaizumi announced with a strict voice, “An akki that the higher ups had been waiting for had finally awakened.”

“Well? Where’s his file? Aren’t you here to make us take care of it?” Futakuchi said grumpily, still cranky from the fact that he was woken up from a good sleep after a night of _‘adventure’_.

“No. I wasn’t here to give you the job.” Iwaizumi spoke, enunciating every single word clearly as he met Oikawa’s gaze, “I’m here to warn you and tell you to be more careful.”

Oikawa felt rigid in his seat. He was right that something was wrong, that’s why his fight or flight instincts have been running wild since yesterday.

“Why? What is with this akki anyway?” Futakuchi grumbled, tucking his face inside his crossed arms on top of the table.

“He’s been sleeping for almost a thousand years, so now he can show his human form and even wield his katana.” Iwaizumi said, and that timeline alarmed Oikawa, even more when Iwaizumi added, “He was able to absorb the akki which Kuroo and Yaku fought last month.”

Silence hung in the air, and it felt so suffocating, Oikawa wanted to claw it out of his ears and throat.

Futakuchi looked awake now as he sat upright and faced Iwaizumi, "Why isn't this our job again?"

Iwaizumi opened his mouth to answer, but he stopped himself to glance at Oikawa first. When Oikawa nodded to signal that he'd be able to take whatever it is, he said, "It would seem that the gods purposefully let Oikawa come down here as a bait to lure him out."

Futakuchi’s breath was sharp as they all heard him take it,1 then he asked, "So he's one of Oikawa-san's past ghosts?"

Oikawa lowered his head. He knew his time here in the living realm was a dream. It was never meant to last as a good thing for him. His ghosts would always be there to haunt him; the ghost he thought he had escaped from, the ghost he wants to stay clueless, and the ghost of his past self.

"Yes. He's a descendant of Taira no Masakado—a samurai that had challenged the imperial court, bringing along earthquakes, swarms of butterflies, lunar eclipses, and rainbows through his revolt." Iwaizumi explained, which was also news to Oikawa.

"They have long since challenged the court _and_ the gods, believing that they are on equal footing with them. Kambe no Kagemori was not a direct bloodline of Taira no Masakado, but he was the strongest relative in that period."

Oikawa’s joints froze when he heard that name be spoken in this modern time, from Iwaizumi’s mouth, in Futakuchi’s presence. It felt surreal. The dream… the fantasy he wanted to hold onto for a bit longer, just for a bit more, just one more—

It's becoming a nightmare.

"The gods themselves are arranging how to get rid of him. I just went here to deliver a warning, and to fortify the evil warding spell in your home. Your _sake_ shop operations are to be halted for now."

Iwaizumi then left the table, most likely to start his chant for their base's protection. Futakuchi stayed with him in quietude, not moving a single muscle, but the silence must have been unbearable for him too because he reached for Oikawa’s hand and squeezed before he said, "We'll get through this."

Oikawa looked to the side and met Futakuchi’s eyes, looking at his face attentively as this might be the last time he could be as close. He only offered a smile—one he couldn’t fake well—then he looked away before he intertwined his trembling fingers with Futakuchi's.

—

Knowing that Iwaizumi and Futakuchi would become overprotective of him, he did not ask for their permission nor told them he was going out to have a walk. He knew it was dangerous, but he couldn’t just sit like a duck in waiting back there.

He passed by rows of houses. He even passed by humans, but he was invisible to them, hence only the street lights noticed his existence as they flicker a little while he passes them.

He's desperate. Has been for so long. It's been a thousand years and yet he's still out here, talking in circles, watching for signals, praying for clues just to find himself.

He might be killed, he might be slain and not be given a chance to reincarnate, but that would be acceptable for Oikawa too. After all, the gods know he's a dissonance, begging to be swiftly pulled into tune.

He felt better the further away he went from the base, from the place he still cannot call home. If he would admit, he had fallen in love with this middle ground, but it was at the cost of his soul. If it would all be taken away now, if it would all be rid of right at this moment, as long as Futakuchi keeps dreaming and only he awakens from all of it and fades away, he would have no regrets.

As long as Futakuchi stays as the individual who knew him only as _Oikawa-san_ , he would be alright.

Oikawa passed by another street light, but this time it completely turned off, accompanied by a strong gust of wind.

"Alone? Do you have a death wish?" The entity was quick to nag, falling in step with him.

"I do, Kita." Oikawa replied with an amused huff, but the kitsune did not find it funny.

Oikawa hummed, then he bravely asked, "Why did Futakuchi become an akki slayer?"

"Kenji originally wanted rebirth." Kita spoke, his voice even and calming, the kind that captivates one's attention no matter how soft it is.

"He was about to become reincarnated, but he couldn’t let go of his hunger for vengeance." Kita continued, and Oikawa simply listened. This was the first time anybody ever told him about Futakuchi’s afterlife and how he ended up as an akki slayer.

"It was strong, so the gods decided to bind it along with the memories of his past." He said, and Oikawa knew what was next.

"The prophecy." Oikawa murmured, and when Kita nodded when he mentioned it, it all perfectly made sense.

 _The gods do love drama_.

"Listen." Kita said, stopping both of them from walking by placing a hand on Oikawa’s upper arm and prompting him to meet his encapsulating dull brown eyes.

Oikawa swallowed against the choking sensation around his neck, and he deepened his inhales as he tried his best not to break.

"Oikawa, whatever choice he decides to make, please do not resent him." Kita said, but Oikawa could see the concern in his eyes and knew it was advice in the guise of a plea.

Perhaps a warning as well disguised as an advice, whichever it may have been, Oikawa only smiled wistfully at Kita, then he answered.

"You know that I could never resent him."

—

Kita brought him back to the base safely, and as he thought, both Iwaizumi and Futakuchi scolded him for doing something so reckless. Kita saved him from Futakuchi’s lecture by asking to have a private conversation with him, probably to be an advisor to the immortal as well.

Once the grim reaper and the kitsune left, Oikawa found Futakuchi in front of the garden of larkspurs and chrysanthemums. Oikawa joined him in viewing the blooms, a privilege he couldn’t do with him a thousand year ago.

"They’re all in full bloom." Futakuchi stated, and Oikawa ran his eyes through the garden and saw that they are indeed in full bloom.

Such a contradiction to the situation. Exactly just like a pink larkspur toxic bloom meaning contrariness.

Oikawa’s dream was dying, and here are their birth flowers, appearing before them as if it was the peak of their blooming seasons.

There was a shrine right at the center of the garden, but Oikawa can't find it in himself to even attempt a prayer.

"Larkspurs are so beautiful." Futakuchi commented as he gazed at the differently colored blooms in front of him, then he said, "It’s a shame that I could only look, and that I couldn't touch it without dying."

Oikawa smiled sadly to himself, knowing too much of Futakuchi, of himself, and of their past together. It hurt to hear him speak like that, and it hurt that though he should have known better, he still could not distance himself away from Futakuchi.

"Maybe that's fair." Futakuchi said after a while of musing about it on his own, then he said, "I would have had to cut it if I wanted to keep it to myself, too. "

Oikawa slowly turned to face Futakuchi, wondering what has gotten into him all of a sudden. The seeds of these flowers were gifted by Kita. Did they talk about the blooms like this? Did Kita use these flowers to secretly inform Futakuchi of the situation?

"If I cut it and placed it in a vase, it would face inevitable death." Futakuchi talked again, like he was in a trance, and to finish it off, he said, "It doesn't even belong to me."

—

Just like there was a calm before the storm, Oikawa and Futakuchi spent the hours together in the minka house with tranquility between them. Oikawa himself found it that he was eerily feeling serene despite the peril waiting for him.

He didn't fear Kambe, maybe that's why. Just like that time he knelt in Yomi-no-kuni, he had just learned to accept his fate and take it as it is.

He was a liar who took advantage of a conveniently rewritten situation of the _what ifs_ and _what could haves_.

He shouldn't have abused them as much as he did, but could anyone really blame him?

A brief, strong rush of wind entered the house, and the two of them quickly pulled up their defenses. Futakuchi brandished his katana, and Tooru unsheathed his knife.

Iwaizumi materialized before them, and though he was a comrade, they didn't lower their guards as they listened.

"You must leave. Immediately." Iwaizumi said, his voice directed towards Oikawa, "Kambe had figured out where you are and the gods are—"

"Fucking this up on purpose so I have to defend myself." Oikawa declared without fear of retribution, because it was nothing but the truth.

And just like they have called upon the devil, a powerful and menacing presence had made itself known to everyone inside the base. It was still outside the _sake_ shop, but its aura was daunting and evident enough to invade the protective barriers, creeping onto the surfaces, aiming to reach Oikawa.

"He's here." Oikawa hissed in a whisper, and only then did he realize what he should be terrified of, because the first thought he had wasn't for him, but someone else.

 _Kenji_. He thought, and he whipped his head to look at Futakuchi, seeing him prepare for a battle.

Iwaizumi had brought up his hands as well, enchanting Oikawa and Futakuchi—the _two_ of them—his protection.

 _No. This is wrong_.

"This is my fight _alone_. Do not interfere." Oikawa ordered, but Futakuchi was stubborn. He wouldn't listen to anyone, especially a subordinate like Oikawa.

"We're partners, Oikawa-san." Futakuchi muttered with a strange sound of attachment in his tone, "Let me fight alongside you."

Futakuchi’s heavy gaze bored onto Oikawa’s skin, and it felt like the earth was at his feet, but he couldn’t unravel whether it was to pillar him or to sink him into place.

Iwaizumi finished bestowing them his grace, and he opened his eyes to look at Oikawa, "Be careful."

 _I will._ He should say, but as Shimizu said before, promises are better left unsaid if you wouldn't be able to fulfill it. Essentially, these words are just for comfort. None of them are out of genuine optimism anymore.

"Get rid of the barrier." Oikawa said, and Iwaizumi looked like he was going to oppose the idea, but Oikawa didn't let him, "He'd be able to breach it sooner or later. You're just wasting your life force."

Iwaizumi closed his mouth, and even Futakuchi was not saying anything so he knew he made sense.

"Ready whenever you are." Oikawa said to Iwaizumi before he transformed his clothes into his traditional wear and walked out of the minka and then to the center ground.

"Can we do something about the fountain?" He asked as Futakuchi followed him out, "Wouldn't want to wreck your sculpted art now, don't we?"

Oikawa tried to lighten the atmosphere by joking a little here and there, but opposite to what he was used to, Futakuchi was serious this time. He was focused and fixated on the mission to slay the akki.

Looking ahead, Oikawa saw the fountain was mentally removed by Futakuchi without a word.

Next, Iwaizumi joined them outside as well, then he announced, "I'm removing the boundary."

Oikawa took a deep breath and composed himself, steadying his posture as he looked straight ahead. He felt the protective barricade melt as it got replaced by a pressing darkness. It wasn't really threatening; it was more captivating rather than that. Like he was being lured into it, seduced by the darkness, being sucked into the void.

Then all of a sudden, he was right there. He passed through the _sake_ shop like he was just strolling down a park, planting his feet on the ground like he owned the place, his stance proud and magisterial.

Kambe no Kagemori smiled. _Beautifully_.

He was aged since the last Oikawa had seen him, but he was still the dashing man he was when he first met him. He was still that beguiling man he was of the past.

"Tooru." He called, chillingly hypnotizing, and Oikawa fought every single part of his body that screamed about a thirst he knew was being manipulated by Kambe.

"I've missed you, my dear." Kambe spoke, enticing him with that sweetened deep, and resonating voice of his, "I was in hiding to gather strength, but I've caught whiff of your presence and figured you were worthy to fetch."

Kambe gestured towards Futakuchi, "But what do I find out next? You are serving the gods." His voice started to rise, and it echoed inside the base as he shouted, "You're even _serving_ the man you've killed!"

Oikawa closed his eyes, avoiding the possibility to see Futakuchi, to view his face, to understand his expression, to feel what he felt, to comprehend what he thought. He didn't want any of it.

"For what are you doing this?" Kambe demanded, "Repentance?"

He scoffed as he scorned Oikawa, "Oh, _please_ do not tell me it is out of _love_?"

"What—" Oikawa interrupted with a voice just as loud and domineering as Kambe's, then he added, "—is it that you want?"

Kambe chuckled, "Can't even offer me a small talk, I see. Is this your way of protecting that man who doesn't even remember you?"

Oikawa formed a stake made out of ice above his head and drove it towards Kambe, but he easily cut it in half with the katana he manifested into his hands, speaking like nothing happened, "I want you to join me again."

"And what makes you think I want to?" Oikawa asked, feeling his heartbeat spike as Kambe took a step forward to get closer to them.

"I know you don't." Kambe said with an amused laughter, "But you promised me forever, and then you hung yourself and betrayed that oath."

Kambe teleported right in front of Oikawa and traced his cheek with his nail, whispering, "I'm here to collect your debt."

A sword swung swiftly between them and Kambe teleported away once again, creating a distance between him and Oikawa. They both looked at the person who swung the sword, and Oikawa saw Futakuchi’s conflicted eyes. It was the first time he ever saw this present Futakuchi to be so confused and unsure of himself, but there is a fire in them as well, one Oikawa knew he wouldn't be able to extinguish.

"A katana? A millennia ago you couldn't even stab with a knife." Kambe mocked, but Futakuchi held his ground.

"Well, it's the 21st century now. Your—" Futakuchi paused, " _Our_ history from thousand years ago doesn't matter anymore."

Kambe's laugh was like thunder—booming and baleful, "I'd love to see you prove that to me."

"What—"

Then Futakuchi was gripping his sword too tightly to be considered proper, and Oikawa noticed his neck tensing up as if he was battling something.

Oikawa turned to Iwaizumi, and he saw the reaper in the same situation. Soon after, he went through the same phenomenon.

Past _. Smiles._ Memory. _Sea._ Visions. _Embraces._ Images. _Warmth._ Emotions. _Autumn._ Pain. _Moon._ Ache. _River._

Oikawa gasped for breath— _Kenji_.

When the brief clips of memories finally stopped flowing in front of his eyes, he turned to Kambe and said, "Stop it."

"Why? Don't you want to know if he was telling the truth?" Kambe smirked, his eyes condescending as if he knew everything about Oikawa. As if he had Oikawa’s fate in the palm of his hands.

"Stop it!" Oikawa tried once more, sending more stakes of ice towards Kambe but he deflected it all with his sword.

Oikawa then grabbed Iwaizumi by the arms and said, "Leave! Take Futakuchi with you."

"I'm not leaving." Futakuchi groaned as he clutched his hair with his hand, "I won't leave you alone here."

"But—"

"Shut up. I can handle myself." Futakuchi said before he teleported close to Kambe, his sword swinging downwards for an attack, but Kambe was quick to fend it off.

Oikawa drew his eyes away from them for the moment and spoke to Iwaizumi. He was growing weak at the trigger Kambe had on them, so he told him, "Go. A reaper mustn't risk his life like this."

Reapers lose their life force when they gain memories. They were meant to be the afterlife's slaves, and Iwaizumi had found serenity within that life despite its hardships. He shouldn't be here and endanger himself as well as the life he had finally become at peace with.

"How about—"

"We'll _manage_ , Iwa-chan." Oikawa persuaded as the clashing of swords accompanied them as background noise

Iwaizumi groaned in pain again, and Oikawa tightened his hold on him enough to physically hurt as he ordered, "Go!"

Reluctantly, Iwaizumi held his gaze for another second before he nodded and dematerialized. Oikawa hoped he was able to teleport himself far away enough from here.

Dragging his eyes back to Futakuchi and Kambe, he noticed that their sword fighting skills were on par of each other, but what worried him is that whenever Futakuchi uses his fire, Kambe’s shadow eats it up like it didn’t originate from the sacred, undying flames of Amaterasu herself.

Oikawa watched as Futakuchi built a tall wall of blue flame between him and Kambe, falling back beside Oikawa in a blink.

“How the _fuck_ is he absorbing my flames?” Futakuchi angrily asked as the two of them stared at Kambe walking through the wall of flame he built like it was nothing because of the shadow cloak he wore all over himself.

“Well, he _has_ been generating power for a thousand years now—”

“Okay, but _I_ have been alive for a millennia too, so _fuck_ it!” With that surge of rage came along another set of eternal flames towards Kambe.

Some of it he was able to elude, and the ones he didn’t, he absorbed into his void.

Oikawa saw Futakuchi's hand wrapped in blue flames before he cupped his hand over the circumference of the blade and ran it through the blunt edge of the katana’s blade using his palm as a guide.

Futakuchi took a deep breath and released it posthaste, “I might not know the past, but I hate this guy.”

“Ke— Futakuchi.” Oikawa stuttered, almost slipping and calling Futakuchi with the name he forbade himself to say, “Break his sword. He would be powerless without it.”

Futakuchi raised his brows, showing he was unimpressed as he said, “That was already the plan.”

“Right.” Oikawa answered hastily, averting his eyes as he might get lost in Futakuchi’s stare the longer he allowed himself to look back, “I’ll give you support.”

Then just like that, Futakuchi left him on his spot again to recommence clashing swords with Kambe. He teleported near the two and created an iced platform in midair to hover above them, observing when he could send down stakes to pin down Kambe’s spirit.

Futakuchi was on the offense, but Kambe is too good at defending. Even when Oikawa was training under him, he thought he was able to figure his defenses out, but Kambe would be fluid enough to adapt to his next set of attacks.

As a warrior, Futakuchi had tons of various combinations of attacks. It must have been because of his experience throughout the centuries and the different fighting styles he encountered, so Oikawa did not worry all that much except for the one ability Kambe had up his sleeve.

If Oikawa saw pictures of his past with Futakuchi, what did Futakuchi see that time then?

He’d rather not make Futakuchi remember anything about their past. He’s better off as this _grandiose_ and _legendary_ akki slayer. He doesn’t have to know his insecurities of having a weak heart in the past. He doesn’t have to be reminded of a romance that fooled him, betrayed him, and even at the end, had killed him with no hesitation. Futakuchi is way better off without all of that.

Oikawa was snapped out of his thoughts when he heard a loud crash; it was the minka house’s entrance, wrecked as Futakuchi was catapulted towards it. Kambe flew towards Kenji for another blow, but Kenji was back up on his feet and eluded what might have been a heavy blow.

He really couldn’t find the opportunity to interrupt because Futakuchi is a lone fighter, just like Oikawa. They have no flaws, no faults when they’re in the battlefield. The time they do need to cooperate with each other is when they’re tasked to secure someone and to not kill them.

Oikawa stayed above them. Futakuchi was able to land a blow on Kambe, leaving him lying on the ground, and when Futakuchi flew up with his heated sword above his head, crashing down onto Kambe, Oikawa knew he would be successful in breaking Kambe’s blade into pieces.

First there was an explosion of wind and gravity from where their swords made contact to each other, followed suit by a cluttering sound of metals falling onto the cemented ground.

“He did it.” Oikawa exclaimed to himself with relief, but then Kambe’s cataclysmic aura had amped up to its maximum—something so oppressive, nothing like he’s ever felt and fought before.

Flashbacks of his past come rushing into his mind.

_“—ji—“ Oikawa gasped in pleasure._

Then Oikawa felt himself falling, and he helplessly mutters, “No.”

_“Ken—” He rasped, catching his breath._

Oikawa closed his eyes as he realized he lost his footing on the ice he formed midair and was plummeting to the ground, “No, no.”

_“Kenji.” He breathed, like he was a god he would sing praises to for as long as he could._

_Kenji_. He hears himself say again in his memory.

“Kenji.” He whispered in the present, a name he hasn't spoken of for a thousand of years. A name he kept begging at night to forgive him. A name he kept holding inside near his chest like a dagger to stab his heart with at the right time. A name he wanted to call so badly but couldn’t because he lost the right to do so a millennia ago.

He crashed onto the ground, overwhelmed with the vividness of the images being shown to him by Kambe’s ability. Lying there, helplessly in awe of the past he couldn't grap within his hands.

The flood of memories started to ebb, and when Oikawa felt himself able to open his eyes, he saw Futakuchi brutally kicking Kambe deep into the cemented earth.

He wasn’t scared of Kambe. He wasn’t scared of his memories.

What he was scared of was what memories Kambe might show to Futakuchi, what it might _do_ to Futakuchi.

Selfishly, Oikawa wished that Futakuchi only remembers the good ones, but when Futakuchi finally was able to slash through Kambe; again, and again, and again, and again like had a personal grudge, Oikawa knew that was yet another wish of his that was not heard by those above.

Slowly, Oikawa picked himself up and stood on his feet, taking small steps to come near Futakuchi, but his swings were too violent, his wrath was unchecked, and if Oikawa dared to stop him, he knew he would be cut unhesitatingly.

If Oikawa would have wanted to, he could have wept, but he didn’t. He couldn’t dare to do so.

“Futakuchi?” Oikawa called instead, hopeful and terrified all at the same time.

Futakuchi stopped hacking at Kambe who was burning bright blue from all the fire Futakuchi had instilled on him through the cuts and stabs of his sword. It was obvious he would be consumed fully by the flames any moment now.

There was so much Oikawa wanted to do; there were too many options on what to do and say first, and how to do and say it, but he didn't even get to decide before he felt Futakuchi’s sword pierce right through his chest, right across his _strongly_ beating heart.

Oikawa choked on the laugh that built inside his throat as his body slammed against a wall he was pinned to from the force Futakuchi had exerted.

It was a quick decision by Futakuchi. He did not even hesitate. Not even an explanation. Not even a second chance. This was the choice he made.

Futakuchi glared at him, and Oikawa hated the fact that even though Futakuchi eyed him with flaring fury in his gaze, Oikawa still thought that it was the prettiest set of brown eyes that had ever blessed him with their acknowledgement.

Oikawa dropped his knife and raised his right hand, aiming to cup Futakuchi’s cheek in his palm but he could see his fingers disintegrating from the flames of Amaterasu.

There were too many words begging to be let out of his mouth. Too many things he wanted to do. Too many emotions he felt.

He was warm, he was sad, he was apologetic, he was hopeful, he wanted to sob, he wanted to tell Futakuchi he missed him, he wanted to believe that they could actually live the _what ifs_ and _what could have beens_ , he wanted Futakuchi to call him _Tooru_ one last time.

He dropped his hand back down and looked back again in Futakuchi's eyes, and all he really saw were rage, hatred, vengeance, but what irritated him was that even despite all of that, he still preened at how Futakuchi looked at him.

As his vision started to disintegrate into full darkness, Oikawa had one last thought.

_What a fitting ending._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is really unedited. haha i'm sorry. i think i did well on the previous chapters then suddenly this was half assed. you deserve better, but my head was in a bad place while i wad writing this. im sorry.
> 
> i have a lot to say but idk how to organize them so if you're interested, take a peak of this [compiled ch4 author's notes](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1jia7kyXckSKtEfvuXPw2Dfy-9KjwlHZqo-BIJziKqes/edit?usp=sharing).
> 
> thank you so much for reading. it is much appreciated. i would have wanted to give you something well written for the last chapter, but this was all i could muster at that point of my life. thank you for reaching this far if you did. good night. :)

**Author's Note:**

> this is most likely my last work in this lifetime. (edit: i truly thought this would be the last thing i'd do in my life but im still alive after march 4 so, but i feel incapable to write now anyway.)  
> stream my [spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/38t8CZeNxkgKcyDGgGa9Gg?si=4W_0S2xtSaKw1WTuXE7nsg) for this (i even made the shitty art cover in an attempt to draw a chrysanthemum and larkspurs)  
> peep my notes too if u want:  
> [HIWYAIA](https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1pjXrOrUNx7z5OYTFYw98C9KZX8iONg1R?usp=sharing)
> 
> [ [twt](https://twitter.com/hqch392) ]


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